Dream
by Campy Capybara
Summary: "Dream...and it might come true..." Hermione's birthday gift from her mum brings her a surprise. SS/HG
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Happy 18th Birthday!_

_We just want to tell you how proud we are that our little girl turned out to be such an intelligent, sensible, and beautiful young lady!_

_You are now on the threshold of adulthood, and as always, we trust that you will always know the right paths to take.  You have never disappointed us, and we doubt that you'll start doing so.  Although we are a little sad that we can't be with you in person, know that you are constantly in our thoughts._

_Your dad and I know that you are expecting another book voucher this year, but we felt that every young woman should begin another collection, apart from books.  We've got you a diamond solitaire as a first piece in your inevitable jewellery collection.  You are now a young lady – no more of those cheap trinkets and poor glass imitations.  You are worth each precious stone that pass into your hands._

_You do know how diamonds are created, don't you?  The Earth's heat and pressure turns common coals into the hardest substance known to man.  Well, known to muggles, anyway.  The diamond is then polished with another diamond, in such intricate cuts that allows light to refract in such precise manner that the diamond seems on fire._

_Child, we want you to know that in times of trials, you are like that piece of coal going through a refining process.  The pressures from the past years in that school of yours have refined you such that you are like a diamond in the rough – your innate character is set.  We anticipate that you will now go through a new phase of polishing to release that shine that is in you.  The people that you meet with, the relationship that you form – these are the other diamonds that will polish you, mould you and let you shine forth._

_We want you to know, Hermione, that we love you, and will support you in whatever you undertake._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

~*~

Hermione took out the small jewellery box and opened it with trembling hands.  She gave a gasp.  Staring back into her eyes was a diamond solitaire sitting on a velvet navy blue interior.  She picked up the delicate gold chain on which the pendant rested and held it up to the light.

"Beautiful!" she whispered.

She quickly put the chain around her neck and felt the cool stone resting between her collarbones with her fingers.

This was certainly the most extravagant birthday present she'd ever received from her parents.  She knew Mum's penchant for quality jewellery and therefore, she knew that the diamond she got from them was no cheap stone.  Truth be told, she _was_ expecting another book voucher to add to her already sizeable collection of books, but Mum and Dad's explanation of the gift caused her to feel awe-struck at the symbolism.

She turned to the other package that arrived together with the birthday greetings.  The package felt as if it held a fabric of some sort.  She found a note attached to it and gave her attention to it.

~*~

_Hermione dear,_

_You are not a child anymore.  As your mother and an older woman, I'm giving you this gift for you to begin another collection._

"Another collection?" she lifted her eyebrows in interest.

_Unlike your other gift, which we expect you to wear in public, this gift is for you to wear in private.  Obviously, Daddy doesn't know about this, or it'll give him a heart attack to know that his little girl has truly grown up._

_Suffice it to say, my dear, that as an 18-year-old young woman, you should begin a collection of these to celebrate your burgeoning womanhood and femininity.  Some words of advice from this older woman:  Never be afraid of who you are and what you can be.  I know you know how to take this advice in the right context – you are, after all, my daughter and you know my mind about these things._

_I'll only add, dear, to take the right precautions and to trust both your heart and your head in whatever situations you find yourself in._

_Love,_

_Mum_

~*~

Curiosity getting the better of her, Hermione took up the other package and carefully tore open the brown paper wrapping.

A red satiny material flowed out of the wrapping and pooled in her lap.

"Oh my," she blushed deeply.

More shocking than the diamond she received from her parents, this gift from her mother was a rich warm scarlet negligee.  _Gryffindor red_, she mused to herself.  She was mortified, and didn't know whether to quickly stuff that incriminating nightgown deep into her dresser before Lavender or Parvati saw it, or to lay it out on her bed and take in its details.  After a deep breath, she decided on the latter.

As intimates go, the negligee was rather modest, unlike some of her mother's more risqué ones.  "Gryffindor red, indeed," she grinned.  The red satin was opaque – _At least it's not diaphanous like most of mum's are_ – and for that she was relieved.  The cut of the nightgown, however, was not so moderate.  Two spaghetti straps held up the bodice of the gown, and it criss-crossed the deep plunging back.  The only detailing providing a contrasting texture on the gown itself was fine red lace, of the same colour as the A-line gown, covering the bust line.  There was an accompanying robe that matched the gown, and Hermione could not help but stroke the sensuous material thoughtfully.

She was tempted to try on the gown, but felt a little discomfited if her roommates were to walk in on her.  Although she knew that at Hogwarts, the blankets were magically kept warm and toasty though even the coldest weather, she felt a little shy about wearing such an exquisite garment in her shared dormitory.  So with great care, Hermione folded the gown and robe and placed it lovingly in her dresser.

And not a moment too soon, for Lavender and Parvati could be heard just outside her dormitory.

"Hey Hermione!  Ready to head on down to dinner?"  Lavender asked.

"Wait a minute," Parvati's eagle eyes gleamed at the stone hanging around Hermione's neck.  "Wow.  Who's that from?  Some secret admirer?"

Lavender's eyes alighted on the diamond and she added with a knowing look, "Is it from someone we know?"

By now, the excited girls have started postulating who the gift was from and Hermione decided to end their chattering before she developed a tension headache from their surround sound speakers.

"Well, if you must know," she rolled her eyes, exasperated, "it's a birthday gift from my mum and dad.  They decided to forgo the usual book voucher for jewellery this year."

"Oh you're sooo lucky!" chimed Lavender.

"I wish _my_ parents would be as thoughtful as that, but with Padma and I sharing a birthday, mum and dad are not likely to spurge, if you know what I mean," griped Parvati.

"So it's your birthday today?" Lavender asked, guilelessly.

Hermione held in her sigh.  They've spent the past six years sharing a dormitory and the other two Gryffindors still didn't know that it was her birthday today.  Then again, apart from the owl post from her parents this morning with her birthday gifts, no one deigned to even wish her a happy birthday.  Not even Harry and Ron, and they were her best friends.  _So much for best friends_, she thought miserably.

She nodded her head to answer Lavender's question.

"Well, happy birthday then," said Lavender with a smile, extending her hand to shake Hermione's hand.

"Yes.  Happy birthday, Hermione," smiled Parvati, as she took her turn to shake Hermione's hand.

"Well then," continued Lavender, "shall we go on down for dinner?"

~*~

Early that morning, Hermione had woken up feeling excited.  It wasn't everyday that a girl turned 18, and she was anxious to know what her friends would do to celebrate her special day.

She'd gone down to the Common Room to meet Harry and Ron before going to the Great Hall for breakfast, but it seemed that they have already left without her.  At the Great Hall, she expected either Ron or Harry to greet her with a birthday wish.  She didn't quite expect to see Ron intense in a Quidditch match play-by-play account with the other Gryffindor boys and totally ignoring her.  She looked up at the High Table and saw Harry and Blaise Zabini, their Head Boy and Girl this year deep in conversation.  No doubt they were discussing prefect duties for the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match tomorrow.

She sighed.

She was about 3 weeks into her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and things had begun to settle into a routine again.  Against all expectations of her, she didn't make Head Girl this year, despite having been made prefect since her fifth year.  She had consulted Professor McGonagall last year and decided against taking up the Head Girl position if the school decided to offer it to her.  Instead, she told Professor McGonagall that she wanted to make her NEWTs her priority for the year.

In actual truth, Hermione didn't want the position of Head Girl because she was not very comfortable with the counselling aspects that the Head Girl's duties warranted.  With the prestige of Head Girl, she would be required to spend an inordinate amount of time with anyone needing her ears for the usual teenage angst of unrequited love, loneliness and low self-esteem.  In her duties as prefect, she had already suffered her fair share of girls who approached her with similar problems, and she did not have the patience to spend her time suffering their foolish tirade.  Couldn't they see that these are petty problems in the light of bigger things – like the war against Voldemort?  Couldn't they understand that they are only teenagers and what they call unrequited love was merely infatuation?  And that these infatuation and crushes were juvenile?  Can't they see that they'd be better off spending their time studying?  Learning and discovering new and exciting things to contribute to the fight for freedom?  Why couldn't they understand what she had understood all along?

She knew her parents were supportive of her decision – they always were.  When she'd explain to them her reasons for giving up the position, her Mum had given her a hug and told her that she had made a very tough and mature choice, especially since she was able to overcome the great pressure to conform to everyone's expectations in refusing the Headship.  Hermione knew her Dad would be a little disappointed and there were moments during that summer holidays when she caught her father sighing as if she had allowed a great opportunity to slip through her fingers.  However, her Dad did not contradict her decision, as he trusted Hermione's choice.  He told her that whatever she had decided, she would have to learn to live with the consequences of her actions.

Hermione was grateful that she had such understanding parents.  Most of her peers at Hogwarts had good relationship with their parents, but Hermione knew that her relationship with her parents was unique.  For one thing, her parents had her very late in life, and being older parents, their parenting style was characterised by treating their daughter not as a child, but as a young adult.  Moreover, her playmates at home – her cousins and the children of her parents' friends – were at least 10 years her senior; so she was more comfortable in the company of older people than with her age peers.  Harry and Ron were the only people her age she hung out with consistently, but there were many times that she felt that she was a mother to the two boys, always tempering their enthusiasm for adventure with her sensibility.

She took another cleansing breath to clear her head of her contemplation.  It was her birthday today, and if no one remembered it, she'll just deal with it.

She reached out for toast and marmalade to add to her plate, when the owls started swooping into the Great Hall.  She looked up expectantly because her parents have never yet forgotten her birthday, and sure enough, a large tawny owl landed neatly beside her cup of pumpkin juice to deliver a large parcel to her.  She recognised her mother's handwriting with a smile.  After thanking the owl with an affection tickle under the beak and a slice of bacon from her plate, she promptly shrunk the package so that it will fit into the pockets of her school robe.  She knew that her housemates were casting her curious looks surreptitiously, but she had learnt her lesson early in her second year at school not to open her mother's packages at the breakfast table.  She could never guess what her mother would send her, and that year, she was totally embarrassed when she had opened her parcel eagerly, only to reveal a large box of sanitary napkins.  Harry and Ron had turned a bright shade of cherry red and were not able to look her in the eye for one whole week!

Although very excited to know what was in the package, she decided to wait until her lessons were over for the day, so that she could open it in her dormitory.  She'll let the anticipation increase – after all, it seemed likely that this was the only present she'll receive for her 18th birthday, so at least she'll have something to look forward to at the end of today.

Finishing her breakfast with a swipe of her napkin, she hefted her satchel and joined her classmates heading towards the greenhouses for her first class.

It was going to be a long day.

~*~

**A/N**: Before I get a veritable BBQ of flames thrown at me for making 7th Year Hermione an 18-year-old, let me explain – I've taken Hermione's birthday in September in her first year to be her 12th birthday, thus allowing her to celebrate her 18th birthday in her 7th Year.  I've read arguments for and against her birthday to be either 1979 or 1980, and for this story, 1979 works better for me.  My British friends are quite adamant that British schools' cut off date of 1st September is very strict and children born after that date will have to start school a whole year later.

Frankly, I just find this extremely confusing and vexing.  In my country, the school year starts on 1 January, so the cut off is date is 31 December of that same year.  This simplifies so many things – you'll know how old a child is, simply by knowing which year he or she is in school.  Anyway, by this same token, GCE 'A' Levels (the equivalent of wizarding NEWTs) is taken in my home country when one turns 18.

**A/N 2 **– The title of this story is inspired by that lazy, sensual, jazzy rhythm and images evoked by Johnny Mercer's haunting song, "Dream", recorded by Dinah Washington with Hal Mooney's orchestra in 1954.  You might remember that haunting melody from the soundtrack of "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil".


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

 "Surprise!"

The Gryffindor Common Room was gaily decorated to the hilt with balloons and streamers.  Multi-coloured magical confetti kept streaming from the ceiling, but disappeared once it landed on the ground.  When Hermione went up the stairs to her dormitory half an hour ago, there was not even a shred of a paper streamer in the Common Room.  Now, the room was transformed into a veritable party zone, replete with a buffet table.

The Gryffindors started singing Hermione her birthday song, while Hermione, escorted by the grinning Lavender and Parvati strode down the staircase towards a huge tower of cake magically holding up 18 different flavours of cake levels, a candle on each level.

"…Happy Birthdaaaaay, to yoooouuu!"

Amidst much laughter, cheers and whistles, Hermione started tearing up.  Looking at the happy and eager faces of her Gryffindor housemates, from the ickle firsties to her 7th Year friends, she sought out the familiar pair of untamed black hair and the shock of bright red hair.

"You didn't think we'd forget your birthday, did you?" Harry asked, with a wink and a smile.

"It was tough convincing Professor McGonagall to let the Gryffindors have their dinner tonight in the Common Room to celebrate your birthday," Ron added, with a conspiratorial smile, "but we'd managed it.  She said to wish you a happy birthday on her behalf, and to enjoy yourself."

Hermione could only wipe her tears away with her fingers and gave her two best friends a brilliant smile and a group hug.  "You guys are the best friends a girl could ask for!" and with that, she blew out the candles one by one, from the bottom level up.

When the last candle was extinguished, Ron declared that Hermione's birthday party was officially underway.  The Gryffindors gave a loud cheer and the happy crowd started to make way towards the buffet table.

"Thanks, guys.  I really didn't know that you'd go through this much trouble for me."

"Aw, Hermione, it is your birthday – and after all the adventures that we've been through, what's a little party organisation?" grinned Harry.

"And besides," added Ron with a wink, "we're Gryffindors, you know – we'll use any excuse just to have a party!"

~*~

After the food was eaten, presents opened, appropriate _oohs_ and _aahs_ made for each gift, the House Elves appeared and very quickly put the Common Room to right once again.  The younger Gryffindors had already gone to bed, and the older ones employed themselves with whatever they usually did on a normal Friday evening.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were curled up in front of the open fireplace, enjoying their silent companionship and self-contemplation.  If the three friends could hear each other's thoughts, they'd be surprise at how similar their turns were.

Since being made Head Boy, Harry found little time to spend in the Gryffindor Common Room with his other two friends, as he was wont to do in his previous years.  Because Harry accepted the position of Head Boy, he had ceded his Captaincy of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team to Ron, who was a brilliant Quidditch strategist.  Harry still played Seeker for the Team, but in order for their reserve seeker, 4th Year Nicole Childe, to gain field experience, Harry had opted to be put on reserve that year.  This worked well for Harry, as his Head Boy duty was indeed quite heavy, in addition to his studies for NEWTs.  Needless to say, with his own room as Head Boy's privilege, this was the first time since school started that Harry had time to hang out in the Gryffindor Common Room.  He had missed quiet times like this where he could just soak in the warmth of the fire, relaxing with his best friends.

Quidditch Captain Ron Weasley played Chaser on the team.  Ron took his responsibility very seriously, since this was his opportunity to step out of Harry's long shadow.  He was a tough Captain and under his lead, the Quidditch Team spent long hours out of doors training.  He got his team up at the crack of dawn for morning exercises and the whole team practically eat, breathe and sleep Quidditch until sundown.  Tomorrow's first match against Ravenclaw would be Ron's first as Captain of the Team, and the past weeks' Quidditch practices were all focussed on winning that first match of the season.  Like Harry, Ron too, missed this introspective time with his friends.

The busyness of 7th Year, its accompanying responsibilities, and the maturity of the Trio had mellowed the friends somewhat.  Hermione suddenly realised that this was the first time since school started that they were together with nothing on their hands.  Wondering at the thoughts of the other two, she broke the silence.

"You know, this is…"

"…the first time since school started…"

"…that we're together," ended Ron with a merry twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah," sighed Hermione, leaning back in her chair.  "You guys are so busy with your responsibilities that we hardly have time to see each other.  It's just not the same."

She turned to Harry.  "You," she pointed with an emphatic finger, "are way up there at the High Table during mealtimes, and we just don't seem to have the time to chat anymore.  And you," she turned to Ron, with a teasing grin, "are off playing the Quidditch hero, and are surrounded by adoring fans and the Quidditch team, that I can hardly talk to you at all."

She gave another melodramatic sigh, "I might as well start looking for new best friends at the rate we are going!"

The boys protested vehemently, as they were suppose to do.  They knew Hermione was merely teasing.  The Trio knew that as they entered adulthood, their responsibilities will increase, and time for adventures that marked their younger years at Hogwarts would naturally decline.  In fact, since the Triwizard Tournament in their 4th Year, their 5th and 6th Years were surprisingly unremarkable.  However, it did not mean that Voldemort had forgotten Harry Potter, nor his goal of ridding the wizarding world of muggles and muggleborns.  The truth was that there was a general sense of uneasy foreboding among the general wizarding public.  It was as if Voldemort intended to lull his enemies into a state of complacency before striking.

But the staff and students at Hogwarts were by no means complacent.  In addition to their normal curriculum, Headmaster Dumbledore had created two new compulsory subjects since the Tournament.  Wizard Duel and Unarmed Combat were added to the curriculum in the hope of preparing the students for the war that was undoubtedly on the horizon.  Dumbledore anticipated that the new subjects would help the staff and students to better their reflexes so that they would not be caught unprepared when faced with Death Eaters.

The _Daily Prophet_ had decried Dumbledore's initiative as being outrageous.  What could Dumbledore be at to have children trained for combat?  It was unheard of!  The wizarding society was divided on this issue.  Most of the parents were glad that their children were taught self-defence, but after 2 years of quiet, some of the more vocal assenters started voicing doubts.  Some felt that the calm of the previous 2 years attest to Voldemort's being too weak to further harm the British wizarding community.  Dumbledore was not going to leave anything to chance however, and despite these hurdles, he continued his planning and strategising with his staff.

"That's really unfair, Hermione," protested Ron, "you seem to forget that you are practically living in the library most of the time."

"Yeah, not to mention that we have known all along that your 'best friends' were of the rectangular kind, filled with print and usually congregate on a shelf – you were just patronising us when you condescended to befriend us, weren't you?" teased Harry.

Hermione chuckled, and then pretended to put on airs, "Why yes, of course!  Anyone could see that you two dunderheads needed someone who could read to befriend you.  God knows you needed my superior reading skills to get you out of enough scrapes as it is."

"Is that right, Miss Know-It-All?" asked Harry, signalling Ron with a wink of his emerald green eye.

"You know it is," replied Hermione.  She had seen Harry's signal to Ron and got ready to defend herself.

In an instant, Harry and Ron descended on Hermione and started tickling her.  Hermione started laughing and squirming and begging the boys to stop.  Face red with oxygen deprivation, the boys finally stop their torment and slumped down on the floor by Hermione's chair.  Eyes bright with laughter, Harry and Ron looked at each other and then looked towards their mutual friend.  Hermione was curled up in the large winged chair softly hiccupping the last of her giggles.  When Hermione finally looked up at her friends, the image suddenly struck the two boys.  In contrast to that bossy bushy-haired, brown-eyed, buck-toothed, whirlwind of a temper that they met aboard the Hogwarts Express all those years ago, Hermione had transformed into this striking young woman, who held in her eyes a quiet confidence, albeit still shining with laughter.  Sure, she was still bossy at times, but now she tempered it with tact and a witty persuasiveness.  She was still that know-it-all and she still read voraciously, but she didn't need to constantly impress to all and sundry her abilities or her knowledge.

The boys, struck with this grown up Hermione, realised that tonight would perhaps be the last time they'd play this childish tickling game with her.  Green eyes met blue eyes that reflected this understanding to each other.  They were not young children anymore and it was time to treat Hermione like the young lady she had become.

Harry got up from the floor, leaned over Hermione and gave her a peck on her cheek.  "Happy birthday, Hermione," he smiled, and with a courtly bow, added, "Good night and sweet dreams."  Harry turned to Ron and playfully mussed up his fiery hair, "'Night, Ron – see you at Quidditch warm ups tomorrow.  Don't stay up too late, we're counting on you to trash the Ravenclaws!"

"'Night Harry," chorused the other two, as Harry stepped out of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Well, milady," quipped Ron has he stood over Hermione, "methinks it's time for you to go to bed."  Like Harry before him, he gave Hermione a courtly bow and extended his hand towards the young lady in the chair.  Hermione gave Ron a shy playful smile and accepted his extended hand.  Ron tucked her hand into his arm and led Hermione to the staircase leading up to the girls' dormitory.  Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Ron gave Hermione a peck on her cheek, "Happy 18th, Hermione," he smiled sincerely and added, "May all your dreams come true.  Good night."

"Good night, Ron," returned Hermione, as she ascended the stairs to prepare for bed.

~*~

**A/N:** Thanks to Marauder's Quill, I've corrected Parvati's sister's name in Chapter 1.  A slip of the fingers is not a slip of the mind *wink*.  Getting positive reviews on this story is quite a cool experience, so I just have to say: Thank you Reviewers!  (But don't feel that you absolutely need to review if you don't have to.  I'm not going to hold the story ransom. *wink*)

I'll try to update this story at least once a week, so that there's some regularity in my RL.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all your reviews!  It was quite exciting to see that there were people reading this and enjoying it.**

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

"Hermione, could you please explain the Deflating Draught Professor Snape was on about today?" sweet Eloisa Haply asked with a frown on her face, "I really don't understand how the Deflating Draught is related to the Boil Cure Potion that we were taught in our first year."

Hermione smiled sympathetically at the 3rd Year girl and turned to Orion Johnson and Nathan Choy who sat on both sides of the petite blond.

"Orion?  Nat?  Do you know how the two potions are related?" she asked the boys.

Eloisa, Orion and Nathan were in their first year when Hermione found them miserable and tearful after a month of Potions classes.  As their 5th Year Prefect, Hermione had listened to their fears of failing Potions class and had generously offered to tutor them in the subject.  Hermione knew that the traditional Gryffindor-Slytherin combination for Potions classes usually meant that Professor Snape's brusque tendencies were more often than not directed at the Gryffindors, causing some of the younger ones to develop a phobia for the subject.  Neville Longbottom was a good example of that – after his first botched potion and Professor Snape came down hard on him, Neville not only developed a fear for Potions class, his mind would blank out and he would be unable to remember even the basics of potions making!   Added to the fact that Professor Snape had a rather inapproachable demeanour to all students except from Slytherin House, it meant that these students had nowhere to go to clear up their doubts.

Since starting a remedial session with Eloisa's group in her 5th Year, she had pre-empted the problem of Potions for the Gryffindors by organising remedial sessions for in-coming 1st Years in need of help.  She roped in the older Gryffindors who were doing well in Potions to tutor the younger Gryffs who needed help.  Now in the third year, Gryffindor House's overall improvement in Potions exams could well be attributed to Hermione's effort.

It was very peculiar, Hermione noted; how the Houses seem to do relatively well in one subject, but not in another.  The Gryffindors traditionally do better than the other Houses at Care of Magical Creatures, but were the worst at Potions.  The Ravenclaws were best at History of Magic, but were not so adept at Herbology.  Herbology for Hufflepuffs were a piece of cake, but they did not fair as well in Charms.  As for the Slytherins, Defence of the Dark Arts were their speciality, but Care of Magical Creatures brought them no end of frustration.  Of course, this was a generalisation, for there were students who performed well in the traditionally weak subjects in all the Houses.

"Umm…both potions… use the same technique of stirring the potion in the counterclockwise direction?" Nat answered, tentatively.

Hermione gave him an encouraging smile, "Yes, that's right.  Also, both potions require you to add an ingredient after removing the cauldron from the flames.  Now, Isa, does that answer your question?"

Eloisa gave her a thoughtful nod.

"You know, Hermione," she said as she slumped back in her chair, "Potions would be so much easier with you teaching it!  Professor Snape!" she scowled, "He was so mean to us this morning.  That Slytherin git O'Brian called Corrine a 'mudblood' and when she started crying, Snape deducted 10 points from Gryffindor because she was endangering her potions with her tears!  Can you imagine that?"

"Oh and don't forget what he said," Orion attempted a parody of the teacher's whispery threat and sneer, "'If Miss Sabres fails to rein in her emotions, I'll simply have to deduct a further 10 points from Gryffindor for grating our hearing with that incessant snivelling.'"

Hermione merely shook her head with an amused glint in her eyes.

"It true, Hermione!  Snape's such a greasy git!  It's like he's on a personal vendetta against us Gryffindors," complained Nat, agreeing with his classmates.

"Honestly, you'd think I've never been in his class before, the way you go on," she rolled her eyes and smiled in reply.  "Actually, Professor Snape's style of teaching may be a little harsh –"

"A _little_ harsh?  I'd say he's _very_ harsh!" stressed Nat.  The others nodded in agreement.

"Actually," Hermione repeated herself, "he may _be_ harsh, but he is very accomplished in his field.  In fact, according to _Potions Today_, he is one of the top ten Potions Masters in Europe.  Hogwarts is very fortunate to have a Potions Master of his calibre teaching."  She paused, pursed her lips and twisted it to a side, and with a burgeoning twinkle in her eyes, added, "But honestly, there _are_ times I wish I could wring his neck for being so nasty in class!"

~*~

Sitting in her Potions Special Paper class after yesterday evening's remedial session with the 3rd Years, Hermione couldn't help but be amused by the Professor's surly entrance to class.  After spending 6 years in Snape's Potions class, his scowls, sneers and melodramatics had lost some of that potency to intimidate the older pupils.  Unlike 1st Years who saw adults as mere caricatures, the older pupils were able to look at their teachers beyond their façade, and were not so easily cowed by Snape's threats and dramatics.  Some of them even looked forward to Snape's biting black wit – as long as it was not directed at themselves.  That said, none of them would ever willingly serve detention with Snape, and no one wanted to be there when his temper erupted, but most of the 7th Years were used to Snape's bark.  Besides, at their age, loss of House points did not threaten their standing in their Houses as much as it did for the younger students.  Nevertheless, the Uppers were still wary of igniting Snape's latent temper.

The Professor swept into the room and sat in front of the five pupils, silently glaring into each pupil's face, drumming his long tapered fingers on the desk before him.  Satisfied that all his students were alert and accounted for, he launched into the day's curricula, without wasting time on frivolous pleasantries.

After the OWLs in her 5th Year, Hermione and her peers were allowed to specialise in three subjects for their NEWTs (Hermione had opted to specialise in four subjects, after consulting Professor McGonagall).  Therefore, it came as no surprise that most of the Gryffindors dropped Potions, in favour of less aggravating subjects.  Hermione wasn't sure, but she suspected that part of the reason for Professor Snape's theatrics in her earlier years was to discourage many from specialising in Potions.  Her theory was to some extent validated when her Potions Professor seem to be less antagonistic in his teaching from her 6th Year on.  However, Snape's less hostile teaching methods could very well be attributed to the fewer Gryffindor pupils, in particular a certain Neville Longbottom and his infamous exploding cauldron, or that pupils choosing to study Potions in spite of the truculent Professor really _did_ have some interest and more than adequate competence in Potions.

Not all students were able to drop the study of Potions, though.  Pupils who wanted to specialise in the field of Mediwizardry were required to have a Potions background, which was why Hermione could not drop Potions, despite Ron and Harry's prodigious persuasion.  However, it did not mean that Hermione _wanted_ to enter the field of Mediwizardry – she was merely keeping her options open by taking a combination of subjects that offered her a broad base of wizarding skills that will allow her to enter almost any profession that she desired.

The Potions class for the Uppers therefore consisted of 27 pupils, mostly Hufflepuffs and Slytherins.  Potions was a compulsory subject to Apothecary Studies, a field most Hufflepuffs enter into as a profession.  Many Slytherins continued with the subject because Snape was Housemaster, and felt that he would continue to favour them.  However, Snape left no uncertainty as to his dealing with the Slytherins in their first lesson, where he deducted an unprecedented 50 House points from the Snakes for not being prepared in their reading.  Needless to say, the Slytherins understood the subtext of his actions and were well nigh prepared for lessons from then on.  Snape's other unprecedented behaviour of not deducting House points from Gryffindor did not count – there were only three pupils from Gryffindor, after all.

The Special Paper (or S-paper) class, on the other hand, was very different from the normal Potions class.  The S-paper class was opened only to those students who scored distinctions in Potions for both their OWLs and their examinations at the end of their 6th Year.  There were only five students in the S-paper class, comprising of two students from Hufflepuff, and one each from Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.  Because the class was so small and made up of highly adept pupils of potions, Snape's teaching style was less threatening, but no less caustic.  Potion theories, ethics, philosophy were discussed and sometimes very complex potions were attempted by the five under the watchful eyes of the Master.

The topic of discussion for that week was Transfiguring Potions, in particular the one used by the witch Magdalena Mayhem in the better known Muggle fairytale of the Frog Prince.

"How does this Potion differ from the Polyjuice potion which we covered in Potions class?" the Potions Master asked the five, settling his eyes on the lone Gryffindor.

Hermione did not know if he knew about her escapade in brewing the Polyjuice in her second year, but it seemed likely.  However, the question did not daunt her, so she spoke out.

"The potions have the same basic ingredients of shredded boomslang skin and bicorn powder.  However, a correctly brewed Polyjuice potion allows the transfiguration to last for about an hour for human to human transfiguration, and up to five weeks for a human to animal transfiguration, that is, if the stabilising ingredient of a single bee sting is added to the final step of the Polyjuice potion.  Otherwise, the human will be trapped in an in-between state for the duration of the potion's effect," Hermione paused and blushed, remembering her five weeks in the Hospital wing after her botched Polyjuice potion with the cat fur.  Snape merely raised a single eyebrow at her pause, prompting Hermione to continue, "Transfiguration potion, on the other hand causes the person ingesting the potion to remain in the permanent state of an animal.  The only way to revert back to human form would be the administering of a kiss by the person's true love."

For her effort, the dark Professor merely nodded his head in acknowledgement.  At least he did not deride her nor give her a sarcastic put down, which he would have in the normal Potions class.  The S-paper class was certainly different in that the five scholars were expected to be well-read and ready to share their what they gleaned.  The topics they covered were very detailed and it was very satisfying for Hermione to keep up with the rest of the gifted as they looked at the various facets of Potions.

Besides S-paper for Potions, Hermione also took S-papers for her three other subjects of Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.  The depth into which the subjects go into at S-paper levels both engaged her and challenged her, and sharing the class with like-minded individuals only made her look forward to her S-paper classes, much more than her usual classes.

~*~

It was already October, and the usual Halloween Feast would be celebrated at the end of the month.  Unknown to Hermione, who was just ending another week's remedial lesson with her 3rd Years in the Common Room, going over the theoretical aspects of dangerous potions ingredients mix, Lavender and Parvati were going through all the wardrobe and dressers in the dormitory for clothing inspiration for the upcoming feast.

"Well, hello!  What do we have here?" crowed Parvati as she delicately lifted Hermione's red nightgown up to show Lavender.

Lavender was dumbstruck at the very sexy nightwear.

"Hmm… looks like Miss Granger has been keeping a few skeletons in her closet, eh?" Parvati winked at Lavender, as she laid the negligee on Hermione's bed.

"It's gorgeous!  Why haven't she worn it yet?" Lavender touched the smooth satin and took in the lace details.  "I'm soooo jealous.  It must have cost quite a few galleons!  I wonder where she bought it?"

Just then, Hermione trudged into the room.  It was somewhat tough going with her 3rd Years – Orion was in a bad mood today, after having 20 points taken off for a botched potion in class today.  Taking in the sight of the two girls sitting on her four-poster bed, she walked over and saw her birthday present from her mum all laid out on the mattress.

"What, may I ask, are you doing?" she asked tersely, arms folded in front of her chest.  She was tired and moody and the last thing she wanted to be doing was to find out what the girls were doing going through her things.

Lavender and Parvati turned as red as the nightgown.

"Oops!" grinned Parvati.

"Erm…" hesitated Lavender.

"Well, we were just going through the wardrobes to get some inspiration for what to wear to the Halloween Feast, when we found this," said Parvati, as she gently smoothed the nightgown.

"Oh, it's so beautiful, Hermione," gushed Lavender.  "How come we've never seen you wear it?  Where did you get it?"

Hermione blushed.  She forgot about her tiredness, her moodiness and anger.  She softened as she remembered her mother's accompanying letter to the gift.

"Er…It's a gift from Mum for my birthday," she shrugged.

"Oh you lucky thing!" beamed Lavender.

"I wish my mum were so open-minded!" joined the other.  "Where did she buy this?"

Hermione shook her head, "Beats me.  I haven't the faintest idea."

Parvati frowned as she looked at the dress tag – _vero amore, Italia_ – "Erm…it says 'vee-ro ah-more, ee-ta-lee-ah'?"

"Let me see that," sighed Hermione, peering at the very tiny tag.  "Honestly, Parvati, if you'd pay more attention in Charms…" Whipping out her wand from her sleeve pocket, she pointed to the tag with a _declaro dictum_, and the tag read out, "ver-ro ah-mor-ray i-ta-li-a, True Love Italy."

"Wow," whispered Parvati in awe.

"It's rather simple Parvati, Professor Flitwick taught us this Charm in our 4th Year."

"No, no, no.  I mean _vero amore_.  True Love," sighed the girl.

"How romantic," cooed Lavender.

Hermione could barely contain herself.  Trust the girls to miss the point.

"I think," she addressed them with a mocking wan smile, "_vero amore_ is the name of the design house that nightgown is from.  It's probably made in Italy."

"So it's Italian?" asked a disappointed Lavender.

"I guess," shrugged Hermione.  "Mum probably bought this over the summer during our Tuscany holidays."

Lavender pouted, "That makes it practically impossible for us to get something similar!  Oh why isn't it made in Hogsmeade?  Or even in London?"

Parvati did not even care about Lavender's obvious disappointment.  "You were in Italy over the summer?  Woman, I so want to be you!  I'm so jealous!  My parents never take me anywhere."

Hermione smiled and shook her head at both girls' behaviours.

"Have you worn it to bed yet?" asked Lavender slyly.

Hermione gave the girls a shrug and said, "I haven't even tried it on yet."  At the girls' cries of protest, she reluctantly agreed to model the nightwear later that evening.

"Shall we go down for dinner, then?" she asked, as she pulled the other two girls off her bed, towards the door of the dormitory.

**A/N1: ** I'm not sure if you are familiar with the concept of the GCE 'O' and 'A' Levels.  The 'O' or 'Ordinary' Levels, are usually taken after 4 years of secondary school experience, and are taken at 16 years of age.  Some students take up to 10 different subjects for their 'O' Levels.  The 'A' or 'Advance' Levels are usually taken 2 years later.  Much more advanced than the ordinary level subjects, students take at least 3 subjects, and a 4th if they are brilliant could cope with the extra.  Also, the very best students are able to apply to do 'S' papers or Special papers for the subjects they undertake.  Of course, these classes would be very small since the majority of the students would not be able to cope with the degree and depth of the subject at this level.

I'm assuming here, of course that the 'O's and 'A's are similar to the OWLs (Ordinary Wizarding Level) and NEWTs (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) respectively.

**A/N2:**  I do not speak Latin, and all Latin sounding spells and charms are a courtesy of online English-Latin dictionaries. _ declaro dictum_ = explain say+aloud

**A/N3:**  I know the title says "Dream" and we're already in Chapter 3 with nary a dream in sight!  It'll be in the next chapter, I promise! *wink*


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

An arm rested heavily across her abdomen, securing her in a cocoon of warmth.  Deep, soft snoring lulled her senses.  She felt a great sense of peace – all was right with the world.

Hermione cracked opened her eyes.  It felt very strangely familiar in this dark unfamiliar room, in this unfamiliar bed.  She turned her head back to see her bed partner, but she could only see his faint outline in that near-dark room.  There was a fireplace with glowing embers, but this threw little light into the room.  Not enough to see her bed partner by.

She felt the arm around her tighten, and the snoring stopped.  A soft sigh was released into her hair.  "Now this is an unusual set of circumstance," crooned a sleepy, silky baritone, "What have you done to my usual set of nightmares?  Are they taking a break tonight?"  The man sounded somewhat amused.  "Frankly, my dear, I've not had this type of dreams for some years now."

Hermione blushed, but she doubted that the man could see her.

"Oh? And what type of dream do you think this is?" she retorted.

"Well," he murmured into the nape of her neck, eliciting a gasp from Hermione, "the rather naughty type, I'd imagine."

Hermione giggled and turned to face the man.  His arms were still loosely wrapped around her, with his thumb gently stroking the small of her back.  Hermione was mildly relieved that she was still in her nightgown.  The man had on a pair of long-sleeved silk pyjamas, which invited her to stroke the silky soft fabric, warmed by his skin.  Answering to temptation, she placed her hand on his chest and whispered coyly into his face, "What makes you think this dream is going that way?  I don't even know who you are."

"Does it really matter, love?" he whispered, "I'm usually plagued by night terrors and here you are with me.  An oasis of peace in the storms of my nightmares."

"Ah, so you are a poet, then," she teased him.  "But I can't just simply get naughty with a stranger, now can I?"

"I suppose not.  But I find that these preliminaries are usually unnecessary in dreams of this sort."

"Is that so?" she smiled, "I'm afraid I must disagree."

"There are few people in the world that would _dare_ disagree with me about anything, my dear," he remarked in an imperious tone, with perhaps a tinge of amusement towards her impertinence.

"Indeed?" she raised her eyebrow, "That implies two things," she continued, somewhat playfully.  "One, that it is better to agree with you because to deviate from your views will result in terrible consequences for those who _dare_ disagree with you.  Or two, that most people find you too terrifying to disagree with you.  Both implications are rooted in fear.  So, it begs the next question, stranger: Are you someone that I should be afraid of?"

The hand at the small of her back suddenly stilled and Hermione could feel the man stiffen.  In the next instant, the man had rolled away from her and was sitting with his back against the bed's headboard, crouching – his elbows on bent knees, and his head in his hands.  Startled by his sudden movement and body posture, Hermione remained where she was, staring at him.

"I'm beginning to think this dream is not what it appears to be," he said cautiously. "Perhaps you are my subconscious manifesting itself as an angel, sent to torment me."

Hermione was confused at where this dream was going.  _Tormenting him? What was he talking about?_

"It would make sense, you know."  He continued morosely, "After all, what are nightmares but the manifestation of one's deepest fears?"

_Nightmares?  Fears?  Who was this stranger sharing her bed?_  Slowly, so as not to startle the man crouched into himself on her right, she sat next to him, and pulled the thick quilt over the two of them.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," she sighed, putting her arms around the man's shoulder, "and you're confusing me.  Tell me why you think this is a nightmare."

For a while, the silence was broken only by the breathing of the couple on the bed.

"You asked me if you should be afraid of me," he began quietly, "the thing is, you should.  Everyone does – everyone that matters anyway.  It's in their eyes…they all look at me and I can see their fear – wondering if the rumours about me were true, wondering if one day my vile depravity would manifest itself in something so terrible that it would justify those rumours about me.  And the truth of the matter is… the truth is, I fear the same thing."

A pause, as he turned to face her, "The truth is, I am a man living a life tainted with darkness.  My very living is a nightmare.  I don't deserve any reprieve in pleasant dreams," he spat.

He looked away from her and stared straight ahead.  "The best I can hope for is dreamless sleep, but even my dreamless sleep potions are not able to ward off the nightmares my eyes have seen and the deeds my hands have done.  I carry the guilt of my actions and my conscious is burdened to the extent that I am plagued by terrors in my sleep.  Nothing can atone for my past transgressions.  They are unforgivable!"

Hermione felt such great sorrow for the man; she didn't know what to do.  Her head told her that she should be wary of him, for he was clearly unstable, but her heart could empathise with what he said.  She sensed his deep remorse, his loneliness, his fear, his torment.  She just felt compelled to care for this sad creature who knew not what it was to know peace or comfort.  She began to soothe him by stroking his bare back in silence.

"I am not afraid of you," she said to him after a while.  "I don't know why, but I feel safe with you.  I know that you'll never harm me.  In fact, I sense that you've been watching over me and protecting me for a time now."  She didn't know how she knew all that, but as she spoke, she realised that it was the truth.  Perhaps it was the in the warm cocoon of security she felt when she woke up in his arms, or something in her subconscious, or something else altogether – she didn't know.  But she _knew_ that this man was important to her, and that his wellbeing mattered to her.

"You don't know me," his voice was almost inaudible.  "I've done terrible things in my past.  I have tried to atone for them, but it is never enough.  It's never enough!  It'll never bring them back.  It makes no difference – I can't bring them back…" He started sobbing and all Hermione could do was to hold on to the man as he poured his grief and remorse into her shoulders.

After a time, his sobbing subsided.  Hermione pulled him down so that he could lay his head on her lap.  After making sure that the quilt sufficiently covered him, she started stroking his long silky hair.  Silence reigned for a time, and peace enveloped the pair.

"I'm glad you are only a dream, I would never have allowed you near otherwise, you know?  Nobody has seen these secret pains I endure.  I would not have anyone tainted with the darkness I carry."  He gave a self-depreciating chuckle, "I am King Midas, but everything I touch loses its beauty and light!"

Hermione continued stroking his hair thoughtfully.  When the echo of his last statement died out, Hermione spoke softly into the darkness, "Ah, but what if I am Queen Midas, and that everything _I_ touch becomes lovely and fair?  Would not my light overcome your darkness?"

She brightened her tone to chase away the melancholy that was threatening them, "And I _have_ touched you a fair bit tonight."

The man in her lap began a low chuckle that grew into genuine mirth.  As he laughed, he sat up and embraced Hermione.  He sighed into her hair, and whispered into her ears, "Thank you, my dear."  He pulled back to look into her glinting eyes, "You may only be a dream wraith, but you have fortified me, even if only for tonight."

He stared at her for a moment, and cupped her cheek with his hand.  Hermione gave him a smile and leaned into his warm hands.

"I wish…" he began.

"Hmm?" she prompted.

He gently stroke her cheek with his thumb, "I wish what you said would come true – that you _could_ replace my darkness with your light."

He leaned closer to her, "I wish you'd replace my nightmares every night – it would somehow make things more bearable."

Inching closer, he whispered, "I wish… I wish you were real and not merely a woman in my dream."

Hermione was greatly affected by the man's proximity and words.  She felt a surge of emotions causing her heart to beat wildly as he neared.  Unconsciously, her right hand reached out to touch the man's cheek.  The man drew in a sharp breath and moved closer… closer… ever closer to her, and so gently, so lightly brushed his lips on hers.  _Like a butterfly's touch_, her mind told her.  At the soft touch of his lips, Hermione was overwhelmed with a frisson of tingles.  Her heavy lidded eyes closed slowly, as she breathed in a lungful of his scent – _Like an exotic spice market_, she thought amusedly.  She brought her other hand up to the back of the man's head to stop him from moving away and assaulted him with a more forceful kiss.

The man did not need a second invitation.  Hermione was soon light-headed from the sensations of kissing this man, and soon found herself pinned underneath him on the bed.  By this time, both Hermione's hands have travelled to the stranger's back and she was clutching him to herself.  The stranger had one hand in her hair and another in between her shoulder blades, holding up his weight with his elbows on the bed.

When Hermione finally came up for air, she started blinking to adjust to the bright light that suddenly flooded the room.  Her eyes widened when she saw who the stranger was.

"Pro… Professor Snape?" she cried, staring at the man who still held her intimately in his arms.

He looked equally stunned as he asked, "Miss Granger?"

~*~

Hermione woke up suddenly to find herself staring into Crookshank's yellow eyes staring right into her face.  Her part-Kneazle was mewing as he nudged her face.  Hermione was back in her own four-poster bed in the dormitory she shared with Lavender and Parvati.

She sat up and Crookshank got off her lightly for her to settle back into the pillows.  He then settled himself on Hermione's lap contently and began purring the instant her right hand landed on his head.  _Her dream!_ .Her mind brought her to the sensations at final sequence of her dream.  _Wow.  _She had never had her breath kissed out of her like that before.  And by _Snape_, of all people!  "That's why its called a dream, woman," she rolled her eyes, swept her unruly hair out of her face with her left hand and leaned further back onto her pillow with a huff.

As far as dreams go, Hermione mulled, it belonged to the "weird" category.  It wasn't technically a nightmare – although Ron might disagree.  Snogging Snape didn't exactly belong to the "sweet dreams" variety either, she mused.  However, it was only a dream and she had probably visualized Snape's image after the kiss because of last evening's remedial with the 3rd Years.  Nat had complained that Snape was especially vicious to them during their Potions class yesterday, setting a rather difficult potions assignment which caused her to spend some time before she slept last night musing on the problem.  Yes – that was it.  Her subconscious had probably inserted the Professor's face because that was the last thoughts she had before going to sleep.  And besides, the man in her dreams was in the shadows most of the time – it were the Professor, wouldn't his image be seen early into the dream?  Anyway, it's only a dream.  It didn't mean anything.  What are the chances that all that what the dream-man said was real?  No point giving it any more thought.  Right?

"Honestly, Hermione!" she admonished herself, "it's only a dream – nothing to get worked up over."

Honestly, it was not as if she had a crush on her Potions Professor or anything – because she didn't.  No, Lockhart did not count – she was thirteen and she didn't know better then.  But Professor Snape – he wasn't even her type!  Not that she had a type.  Don't forget that he was her Professor for goodness' sake!  He was mean to her ever since she came to Hogwarts, although she admitted that he had become less severe to her peers since last year.  Then again, all the Professors treated the older students very much differently than they did the younger ones.

She shook her head to clear it of those unproductive thoughts.  Turning to look at the alarm clock by her pillow revealed that it was half-past six.  She had to get up soon if she were to meet Ron for breakfast.  She was to meet him in the Great Hall as he had Quidditch practice that morning.  Since the start of October, Harry stopped meeting her in the Gryffindor common room to escort her to breakfast.  His Head Boy duties added heavily to his responsibilities, so she had assured him with a twinkle in her eyes, that "she was a big girl now, and walking that little distance to the Great Hall all by herself in the mornings was within her capabilities, thank you very much!"

Harry had thanked her for her thoughtfulness, but she had mixed feelings about it.  On one hand, not meeting Harry and Ron in the mornings reduced the time she spent with her best friends.  On the other hand, expecting Harry to make his way to the Gryffindor tower every morning, from his Head Boy room a good distance away, just to escort her to the Great Hall was impractical.  It wasn't as if she didn't have daily opportunities to meet up or chat with the two boys.

She pushed Crookshank out of her lap.  She slipped on the nightgown's matching crimson robe, grabbed her toiletries, and padded to the girls' bathroom.  After performing her morning ablutions, she changed into her school uniform and robes.  Returning to the dormitory for her satchel, she checked that her roommates were awake too.  No sense in having House point deducted for tardiness, right?

By the time she met Ron for her toast and marmalade in the Great Hall, she had put the strange dream aside.  Besides, it was not as if she could tell anyone that she snogged the insufferable Potions Professor in her dreams last night, now could she?

**A/N:**  This was a very difficult chapter to write.  I had much trouble wrestling with the initial dream sequence, as Hermione and Severus had a mind of their own concerning what they'd like to say (and _do_ *grins*).  But in the interest of not ending the entire story in this chapter, I had to get Severus into character and not just spend that whole dream sequence in _that_ kind of character…*snort*  My rating stays at R for a reason – I can't write NC-17 to save my life!  LOL!

Another difficulty I had with this chapter was that I had to go through the entire dream sequence line by line to check that the entire dream was told from Hermione's point of view.  Severus just could not shut up!

**A/N2:**  I have a somewhat detailed outline of this story so that I do not write myself into a corner I can't get out of.  To my most pleasant surprise, I just realised that Hermione's 3rd Year remedial lessons always precede 7th Year S-paper Potion class. Heh heh.  Guess that's something to look forward too, huh?

**Most importantly, I'd like to thank all my reviewers.**  Thanks for taking the time to review – it tells me a great deal about what you like about the story.  I don't particularly intend to write with a specific audience in mind, but your reviews do help in enabling me to see how the characters are received from your point of view, and whether what I intend to relate hit home.  Thanks again!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

Severus Snape bolted upright on his bed.

Groaning, he dug the heels of his palm into his eyes and rubbed the remnants of his sleep away. 

Miss Granger.  His subconscious had taken the form of Miss Know-It-All Granger.  It worried him that his subconscious had taken the form of one of his students.  It never had before.

_And what a form it had been --,_ remarked his wry inner voice.

No, he will _not_ think about that.

"_Tempus_," he muttered, and his wand spun on his palm and indicated that the time was a quarter past 6 in the morning.  Well, it was a good time as any to get up.

Intellectually, he knew that annoying 11-year-olds eventually grew up into somewhat mature young adults by the time they leave the hallowed halls of Hogwarts at the end of their 7th Year.  Having taught for 15 years, he had seen his fair share of pupils going through this cycle of growth: starting from the still innocent diminutive child-like look of the 1st and 2nd Years; to the often gangly and awkward limbs and pimpled-faced early teens (he personally hated this stage – more potions were botched by clumsy co-ordination than he would have liked in his classes with the 3rd and 4th Years); to the more confident mannerisms of the older teenagers of the 5th and 6th Years.  By the time his pupils got to 7th Year, their minds have also gain some maturity so that by the time the Leaving Ceremony came around, these young men and women often have very little in common with their 11-year-old self.

Intellectually, he _knew_.

However, as was often the case with parents and their children, the children's growth happen so subtly, so unobtrusively, that he was usually surprised when he _did_ notice their growth and maturity, in mind and body.  

Just like he did with Miss Hermione Granger.

_No, Severus, _he rebuked himself, _don't allow yourself to think this thought through.  She's a pupil of the school.  Nothing good will come of it._

He had no doubt that Miss Granger had grown up.  He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but sometime in her 5th Year, she had behaved with markedly more maturity than her classmates.  True, she was almost year older than most of them, having missed the Hogwarts' admission cut-off date by a few weeks, but her thought process was distinctly more advanced than even the pupils of her chronological age.

He did not want to admit it, but he was impressed by her quiet confidence that marked her entry into his 6th Year Potions class last year.  He was a little surprised that she had opted to study Potions – most Gryffindors dropped Potions the minute they were allowed to specialise in 3 subjects for their NEWTs.  Of course, Miss Granger had up the ante by being one of 8 pupils taking 4 NEWTs subjects – the lone Gryffindor amongst the other Ravenclaws.  It didn't surprise him at all when Dumbledore announced at the staff meeting before the start of this academic year that Miss Granger was attempting 4 S-papers in her 4 subjects – the first time in recent Hogwarts History.

What impressed him further besides her taking up Potion was that she took up the subject despite her two shadows and protectors dropping it.  With her 10 straight As in her OWLs, she could have easily picked any 4 subjects apart from Potions.  Also, with Miss Granger being a clear favourite amongst his colleagues – her magical abilities and giftedness were praised by all, with the exception of perhaps himself and Trelawney – she would have had a much easier time studying under them.

_Typical Gryffindor_, thought Snape uncharitably.  She just _had_ to choose the subject with the most brutal teacher in Hogwarts' history.

By now, Snape had completed his morning ritual and was buttoning up his trademark black frock coat in front of the full-length mirror, which was cast with a permanent _silencio_ charm.

He frowned at his image.

What greeted him in the mirror was a distinguished-looking man in his early 50s.

He could be happy with that, he supposed, but the sad truth was that he was in his 30s.  He was 37, in fact.

_When did I get so old?_

He had joined the Hogwarts staff as a young man of 22.  After his studies at Hogwarts, he had gone on to study Advanced Potions at Merlin University, graduating top of his class.  Following that, he had apprenticed himself with a venerable Potions Master who was partial to Voldemort's cause, to attain his own Master status.  Through it all, he was involved with Death Eater activities, albeit in "small-time" capacity: harassment, information gathering, and assisting in brewing poisons and other arsenal Voldemort needed.  As he mired himself deeper in the movement, his academic achievements, success in his Death Eater duties, and superior intellect brought him to the attention of Voldemort himself.  He was taken out of the foot soldier level and made one of Voldemort's lieutenants, a position that required him to be more involved in the ugly side of the war – the actual killings.

Thus began the longest 6 months of his life.  The weight of his conscious bore down on him and one day, after a particularly gruesome invasion of a muggle orphanage, he felt that Azkaban would be a paradise compared to the screams he heard every night he slept.  At his final tethers, he confessed all his transgressions to Dumbledore, who instead of absolving his sins or sending him to hell on earth, condemned him to a life of never ending atonement – teaching in a dark dank dungeon and spying on Voldemort.

He heaved a sigh and shook his head slightly in grimace.  _Such melodramatic reminiscing will not do, Severus_, he admonished himself.

The man in the mirror looked at him contemplatively.  Severus Snape did not consider himself a vain man.  Prior to waking up this morning, he hardly gave his reflection a second glance.  After all, he prized his intellect more than his looks – he'd prefer to remain Severus Snape than that popular frippery buffoon, Lockhart.

However, if he were honest with himself, his looks, or lack of it disturbed him.

He started mapping out his face with his best feature – his eyes.  They were framed by the thick masculine brows, which were part of the Snape family gene pool, and underscored by dark eyebags, indicative of many restless nights spent awake.  At the moment, his deep-set midnight eyes were narrowed, critically examining itself.  If he looked hard enough, he could still see traces of that young man he once was.  _If_ he looked hard enough.  Otherwise, the twin black onyx were tinted by futile fury and hopeless despair – fury at his boyhood stupidity in obeying the lies of a madman; despair that nothing he will ever do would erase the consequences of his youthful indiscretions.

His beak of a nose was crooked.  A gift from Sirius in a brawl they'd engaged in their 5th Year.  He had never gotten round to healing it properly, unlike his vain Gryffindor adversary.  Once past the healing stage, no magic could re-set the cartilage in his nose.  It didn't matter to him at all, he reminded himself empathically – it was a grim souvenir of what Sirius had done to him.

His skin was sallow.  There was no other word for it.  Likewise, no euphemism could otherwise describe his crooked yellow teeth.  His hair was limp, but by no means greasy.  He knew what the students thought of him and his hair – working over boiling cauldrons naturally cause his fine hair to stick together, and since most of his students didn't meet him socially – _even if they did, they were too frighten to notice something as mundane as his _hair, he mused wryly – they'd assume that his hygiene was questionable.

His was not a face that inspires schoolgirl fantasies, but he was a presence one could not ignore.  He enfolded his severe black teacher's robe around him and peered down at his own image.  The posture screamed, "I will not suffer fools.  And that means you!"

He tilted his head to the left and reconsidered that image of himself.  He supposed that if he really wanted to, ridding himself of that sallow tinge and yellow teeth was no difficulty.  Was he not ranked one of Europe's top ten Potions Masters?

He allowed himself a moment to consider how he'd look with the changes, but merely snorted as he shook his head.  _No, Severus_, he chided himself, _it will not make much difference to how you look to others – they will still be terrified of you.  This is a stupid!  Control your insipid contemplation! _ A sigh, and a shake of his head. _ I need coffee._

Thus the Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape swept out of his quarters, robes billowing, towards the Great Hall for his morning cup of sustenance.

~*~

Hermione looked up from the piles of books she had on the library table and stretched out her stiff back from hours spent sitting in that position.  Feeling somewhat refreshed, she turned towards Harry and Ron, who, for the first time in weeks, had decided to study together with her after a quick lunch.

"I gather you're ready to ace the NEWTs?" Harry teased her gently.

"Hmmph," she snorted, "I was ready to ace the NEWTs last year!" she quipped good-humouredly, with a wink.  "I was just preparing myself for my Honours thesis."

"Hardy-har-har," grumbled Ron, looking up from the Transfiguration essay he was working on.

"Trouble, Ron?" asked Hermione sweetly.

Ron didn't even deign her a reply, scowling at a confounding paragraph he was trying to make sense of.  "Oh I give up!" he slumped back against his chair, "I can't understand the point of studying the Philosophy of Transfiguration or its history!  I mean, what's the point?  You transfigure an inanimate object to an animate object, or an animate into another animate and all that, but why bother knowing the whys?  Who cares?"

Harry just shook his head at Ron's diatribe.  He looked at Hermione, and they exchanged knowing smiles.  It was nothing they haven't heard.

The trio were in the library working on their Transfiguration assignment.  Since their 6th Year, they only shared Transfiguration as their common subject, along with Dumbledore's compulsory subjects of Wizard Duel and Unarmed Combat.

Unlike Hermione's combination of 4 subjects, Harry and Ron each took a 3-subject combination, allowing them to pursue their rather heavy extra-curricula responsibilities.

Ron had opted to take up Care of Magical Creatures, with the intention of working with Charlie's dragons in Romania.  Harry had taken up Charms to shore up his duelling skills.  Those were the only subjects that the boys did not take together.  The duo shared Transfigurations and Defence Against the Dark Arts and they tried convincing Hermione to drop Potions to take up DADA with them, but she refused.  Hermione believed that DADA could easily be covered as a part of all her other subjects.  The Dark Arts was magic channelled for dark intent, but was certainly founded on "normal" magic, wasn't it?

After the Triwizard tournament, she had focussed her extensive readings to include military history and strategies – both muggle and wizard – in preparation for the coming war.  In one of her readings, she came across that of Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_, written over 2500 years ago.  One of his pithy was, "Know yourself, know your enemy, one hundred battles, one hundred victories," which she took to heart.  Therefore, she sought to be aware of her strengths and weaknesses, and she knew that her strength did not lie in being in the frontline in the on-coming war, no matter what Harry and Ron said.  Although she knew that if needed, she was able to stand up and fight more skilfully than most of her peers.  No, her strength lay in her muggle-born reliance on logic and research.  Therefore, her choice of subjects – Transfiguration, Potions, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy covered a broad base of magical foundation that will hopefully enable her to find a better way to engage in the war.  As for the knowing the enemy part, she gleaned whatever she could from Harry, whom she knew was receiving special mentoring from various Professors and Headmaster Dumbledore.  She kept a scrapbook of cuttings from the _Daily Prophet _regarding Death Eater activities, and kept herself up-dated on wizarding politics, carefully considering each policy the Ministry of Magic made and how that will affect the coming war.

Besides, Potions appealed to her personally.  In terms of magic, it was the most scientific and concrete of the magical arts.  There was something about measuring, weighing, experimenting and manipulating potions ingredients that appealed to the science-geek in her.  It reminded her of her primary school science laboratory and her happy days spent with her Dad experimenting with her chemistry set.  

However, Potions was not merely about the exact mix of ingredients, or its order in going into the cauldron.  It was also an Art, involving the creation of possibilities – _Bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses, bottling fame, brewing glory, and stoppering death_, _as Snape's mantra went,_ she mused – with her own magic mixed in.  Not many realised this, but no two potions were exactly the same, even if they worked in generally the same way.  After all, when the potion recipe lists "eye of newt, toe of frog", it does not specify the species of newts or frog.  Sometimes, it doesn't even specify if the ingredients needed were to be fresh or preserved.  Some potion recipes do not even give the quantity of the ingredients needed!   

No, the true force behind the potions' power is the witch or wizard creating it.  It is the potion maker's magical touch which unlocks the magical essence in the ingredients, as much as in the way the ingredients are prepared or the potion is brewed.  That is why even if a muggle were to follow a potion recipe to its minute detail; the potion would not work at all.  It certainly explained how Neville Longbottom fare so poorly in the subject, managing merely to scrape through his Potions OWL.  Of course, for some of the potions ingredients, such as herbs or plant essence, there were intrinsic properties in the ingredients that might elevate common ills that even muggles knew about.  But to be truly effective, magic must be infused in the creation of the potion.  And naturally, the more powerful the wizard or witch, the more potent the potion created.

"Well, I can only think of one good thing about taking Transfigurations," smirked the redhead, crinkly eyes brightening up, "at least it's not Potions!"

_Potions.  Oh no!_  Hermione was suddenly aware that her Potions S-paper class was about to start in ten minutes!  Quickly, she stuffed her heavy-laden satchel with her quills and books, gave a quick wave to the boys and ran out of the library.

_I just hope I get there in time_, she grimaced.

**A/N:**  Hermione's use of the Time-turner increased not only her chronological age, but also her mental age.  Her additional studies, books read and reflection, her giftedness and her dealings with more mature problems like protecting Harry in her own capacity and worrying for him all add to her mental maturity.  At least that's what I'm claiming here. *wink*

In an interview, JKR gave Snape's year of birth as 1960.  Therefore, if Hermione's DOB is 19 September 1979, it would make Snape 37, when Hermione turns 18.  So, my math geniuses, in which year does this story take place?

**A/N2: ** My inspiration for the _tempus_ spell was my PocketPC on which some parts of this fic were written.  Minerva transfigured my wand in a PDA! *grins*  

**A/N3:**  For those interested, the following website will take you to a translated English copy of _The Art of War_, published in 1910, by Lionel Giles – http : // www. clas. ted out that it would be from Hermione's pov, but how could I refuse that silky-Snape voice whispering in my head?

The class will happen next chapter, but don't expect too much physical action until much much later.  This is a slow-burn kind of pacing.

**Again, I'd like to thank all my reviewers.**  Oh, your reviews totally made my day – even those one liners and that one death threat!  *grins*  However, it is with great fear and trembling that I'm posting this chapter.  Some of your wonderful lengthy reviews made me worried that I might not be able to meet up with your expectations once Severus Snape makes his formidable appearance.  *eep!*

For those of you wondering if there will be drama, the answer is a resounding yes.  There is a war, and Hermione already has a siege-mentality in her choice of NEWTs subjects.  She will be a pivotal key in Voldemort's downfall.****


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

"Ah, I'm glad to see that Miss Granger has deign to grace our class with her presence today," smirked the Professor, not looking up from the text he was expounding to the class.  An obviously harried Hermione Granger stumbled in through the Potions classroom, five minutes late.  The other four pupils looked up towards the tardy girl at the doorway behind the Professor with looks of commiseration.  Even Draco Malfoy, the lone Slytherin, winced in sympathy at the recipient of Professor Snape's acerbic tongue.

"I'm sorry I'm late Professor.  I was studying in the library when I forgot the –"

"No excuses necessary, Miss Granger," he looked up to the ceiling, and heaved a dramatic sigh, pinched his eyes, and continued, "I am not interested in your social life, or lack thereof.  I doubt that whatever salacious scandals you may have gotten yourself involved in with your ménage a trois pertains to our study of Potions."

He paused, letting the insult sink in.  Hermione blushed, and bit the insides of her lips in both anger and embarrassment.

He nodded at the other 4 students in the class, "Nor do I think the rest of the class will be interested in your triad's exploits."  He shook his head and returned to the passage in his book, "No, you have wasted enough of our time by your late entry.  Explanations will not enable us to redeem the time lost.  They are tedious and meaningless.  In fact, I daresay it will merely waste even more of our precious time," sneered the Professor, who did not even give Hermione the courtesy of looking at her during his whole soliloquy.

The other students looked from the seated Professor to the speechless Hermione, who, by now was biting on her lower lips to keep the sting from showing on her face.  She quickly sat down next to Su Li, the Ravenclaw, who was the only other girl in the S-paper class.  With nary a peep, Hermione efficiently took out her parchment and quills, ready to get on with the lesson.  No, she will not give Snape the satisfaction by crying in class.  She'd learn a lot in the past year partnering various Slytherins in her classes.  _Revenge was a dish best served cold, Professor_, her eyes narrowed on the unsuspecting man.

"By the way, Miss Granger," he drawled, finally looking up into her flashing eyes, "50 points from Gryffindor," he paused, his face carefully blank, "and a detention to be served this evening at 8."

~*~

Potions class was finally over, and the two girls made a swift exit from the cold classroom.

"Hey, wait up!" called Anthony Goldstein, struggling with his satchel and pushing up his glasses.  His Hufflepuff housemate, Wyane Hopskin hurried along beside him in order to catch up with the girls who were by then at the foot of the stairs at the end of the corridor.

"Tough break, Herm," Wyane addressed the Gryffindor, "detention with Snape is not how _I'd_ want to spend my Friday night."

Hermione gave him a wan smile and shook her head, "It's not how I envisioned spending tonight, either."

"I say it's ridiculous!" injected Tony, hefting his seam-splitting satchel into a more comfortable position on his shoulder.  "He's already deducted 50 points from Gryffindor, that's more than what the other Professors would deduct for tardiness!  What's with the detention?"

"Yes, Hermione," nodded Su thoughtfully.  "Think, woman – have you done _anything_ which might have triggered Snape's wrath?  Did you get into trouble with Harry or Ron again?"

"Honestly, Su," Hermione rolled her eyes, "I really don't know what I've done to offend him.  Since the start of the term, Harry, Ron and I have hardly any time for anything!" she sighed.  "Maybe Snape's just angry with me for being alive and breathing?" she shrugged.

The other three students chuckled at that.

"Perhaps it's just because Granger here is a Gryffindor," drawled an amused Draco Malfoy behind the little group.

"Malfoy," Hermione turned and lifted her eyebrow at the blond Slytherin in acknowledgement.

"Granger," he tilted his head in reply.

They both snorted and broke into wry smiles.

1995 was Draco Malfoy's watershed year, for in that summer, he became the richest orphan in Wizarding UK.

As was their custom, the Malfoys had spent their summer in Chateau Malfoy, an unplottable castle south of France.  Whilst enjoying the gastronomic delights of French cuisine, the Malfoys unwittingly developed a fatal case of food poisoning.  Draco had only managed to escape death's clutches because he hated the taste of wild mushrooms.

The irony of Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater of Voldemort's Inner Circle, dying by something as mundane as severe food poisoning was not lost on Draco's godfather.  For years, the Order of the Phoenix had been keeping tabs on Malfoy senior, hoping to link the man to the various Death Eater activities that Snape knew he had been involved in.  Unfortunately, the wily Slytherin always gave them the slip with watertight alibis.  With Lucius' unforeseen death, the Order knew that Voldemort's faction had been dealt a great blow – both in terms of finance, as well as that of a strategist, and the result was the uneasy calm of the past two years as Voldemort rebuilt his power base.

Draco inherited the entire Malfoy wealth, held in trust for him until he turned 18.  According to wizarding custom, he was placed under the guardianship of his godfather, Severus Snape, until he came of age.  Under Snape's watchful eye and mentorship, and removed from the influence of his father's less than savoury philosophy, Draco was finally given the chance to form his own opinions and to think for himself.  It was not an easy journey for the boy – the shock of his parent's death both grieved him and left him feeling guilty for living.  Moving into Hogwarts forced Draco to grow up – he was no longer the spoilt young master of Malfoy Manor, the Professors at Hogwarts did not tolerate his whims, and the siege-mentality of the castle inhabitants constantly reminded Draco of the on-coming war.

The first half of Draco's 5th Year was spent in an ambiguous haze – he kept up his façade of aloofness in dealing with his peers, but the futility of his petty bullying rang hollow in his heart.  His anger at his loss was profound, but it could not be directed at anyone – not Potter, not Dumbledore, not even the Dark Lord.  It was in this haze that in his second Christmas spent apart from his parents, that his godfather brought him a priceless gift – an epiphany and a cause.  That Christmas, in Draco's icy chill of loneliness, Snape led him to see a truth: Death comes to all, muggle or wizard, and the separation from loved ones, likewise is the same utter desolation for those who are left behind.  With that sobering thought, Draco was able to see the senselessness in his father's philosophy of "purifying" the wizarding society.  He was no longer able to see muggle-born wizards and witches as less than human, for their emotional make up were the same as his; neither was he able to subscribe to a philosophy that encouraged meaningless death and destruction to promote its cause.  Instead, a new cause, crouched in a typical Slytherin term that appealed to the crafty in him, was born.  He would redeem both his beleaguered family name and his House reputation in the up-coming cause.

With his godfather's guidance in their weekly Sunday dinners in the Housemaster's quarters, Draco found refuge in letting his true self emerge, as he learnt the subtle art of espionage.  The Snakes' Den still had the eyes and ears of supporters of the Dark Lord, and Draco had to tread carefully so as not to alert Voldemort's supporters of his change in alignment.  Draco had little difficulty watching the older students for signs of Voldemort's infiltration, or cultivating the younger ones for the side of Light, as he made full use of his position in the Den as the Housemaster's ward in the new Slytherin pecking order.  In order not to arouse suspicion, he continued his baiting of the Gryffindor Three, but this time with greater relish, knowing that his godfather, too, was behind this little scheme.

Therefore, in his 6th Year, much to his and Hermione's chagrin, they discovered that they shared three NEWTs subjects – Potions, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes together.  Like Potions, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were subjects that few pupils chose to pursue at NEWTs level, so Hermione and Malfoy were forced to spend almost entire days in each other's company.  Naturally, Harry and Ron were upset, as they were unable to defend Hermione from the wiles of the evil Slytherin.  Naturally, Hermione was not amused by the concerns of her best friends.  Naturally, she told the boys what they could do with a kite (Ron: _what's a kite?_), and she assured them that Honestly, she can very well look after herself, for although Malfoy had taunted them verbally the previous year, he did not so much as let a hex cross their path.  Besides, she was a diligent student in her Unarmed Combat class, was she not?  And Naturally, in a fit of temper, she demonstrated just what she had learnt from her class on the two boys.  Naturally, they kept quiet on the subject after that.

Despite her assurance to the boys, Hermione was wary of tall, blonde boy.  They spent their first few weeks exchanging vicious glares, arguing incessantly in class, trading a "mudblood" for a "ferret boy"; it got mentally and emotionally exhausting for both to think up new insults, argue for the sake of arguing, and dealing with the indignation that had arisen thereof.  Moreover, they were not making any progress in class because their feuding channelled their concentration away from the lessons to the other party and class discussions would descent into a bitter war of words.  In addition, the anger and acrimony clouded their mental frame to the point that made it difficult for each to focus on their studies.  Therefore, after one particularly trying afternoon at Ancient Runes, an exhausted Malfoy herded an equally weary Hermione into an unused classroom to put a stop to the feud once and for all.

Hermione did not believe a word the Slytherin said.

In her experience, they were too artful by half and were great prevaricators.  Therefore, to convince Hermione, Draco appealed to her Gryffindor sense of honour and suggested that they both draw up and sign a Memorandum of Understanding, which would make it impossible for Draco to abrogate.  They had then spent the greater part of that afternoon drawing up their cessation of hostilities that included the following terms:

§ _Both Parties shall not, in the presence of the other, insult the other party's person, property, family, friends or heritage in word or deed._

§ _Both Parties shall treat the other party with civility, when in the other Party's presence._

§ _If partnered for assignments or projects in Potions, Arithmancy or Ancient Runes, both Parties shall ensure that due effort be given to the completion of said assignment._

However, because Draco had deferred to some of Hermione's suggestions, she began to be wary of being trapped by the Slytherin.  Of course, the alternative scenario of continuing in their feud did not appeal to her at all, since she knew that on a few occasions, some of her Ravenclaw classmates managed to get ahead of her in class.  Therefore, for fear of her academic prowess and her emotional sanity, they both signed the contract, which was to be kept for the entire academic school year.

As expected, when the school heard about the peace agreement between Malfoy and Hermione, Draco had to fabricate a story wherein he was tricked into signing that magical document.  Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the House one supported), because of the terms of agreement Draco had to abide by, he was unable to vent his frustrations of being deceived by the Gryffindor witch.  Ron and Harry celebrated Hermione's brilliance at solving the quandary of taming Malfoy, and because Hermione had promised Malfoy not to reveal the truth about how the agreement was drawn up, she allowed her best friends to remain in the dark.

After that historic day, Hermione found to her surprise that Malfoy was actually an intelligent student who had fascinating insights to contribute in class, by virtue of his wizarding upbringing and social standing.  Without being constantly referred to as "mudblood" or spoken of in derision, Hermione found that she was more amenable to some of Malfoy's contributions on certain social and cultural norms for wizards, even those ideas that were biased against muggles.  Because their exchanges were cushioned by civility, she was then able to point out to Draco how some of these biases were rooted in historical misunderstanding, without going through the angst of a shouting match.  Her own prejudices against the upper echelons of the pureblood wizarding culture was frequently coloured by Ron, and thus, although Hermione would never admit it, she was grateful that Malfoy was able to provide her this insight into a culture that she could never be able to glean from books.

Malfoy, in turn found some muggle ideas fascinating.  He had no muggle friends and thus was amazed to learn about Muggle's foray into Science and Technology.  He was especially captivated by Hermione's discussion in _Ancient Runes: Legends of Travel_, wherein she revealed that muggles have already put a man on the moon, and that even as they were discussing Pimpernel Deepdelver's travels to the 5th Dimension using the Runic set, that there were not only muggles circulating the Earth in satellites out in space, but that American muggles will send a space probe to the planet Mars at the end of that year, and were expected to receive images of the surface of the red planet in the summer of the next year.

At the start of their 7th Year, the habits of behaving civilly with each other was so ingrained, that neither of them thought to sign another contract.  By then, the school was used to seeing Draco treating Hermione with civility that it was no longer out of character for the Slytherin.  In fact, many younger boys started emulating Draco's courtly manner, when they saw how their female schoolmates seemed to be taken by his aristocratic air.

"So, what did the good Professor want with you?" she eyed the boy, speculatively.  "Should I be thanking _you_ for his foul temper?"

Malfoy shook his head, "Hardly.  No, it was just some Slytherin housekeeping matters."  He then looked at the girl with curious glint and a half-smirk, "Although… I must agree with Su.  It's not like Snape to issue detention to 7th Years.  Whatever _you_ have done must be _quite_ serious."

On that ominous note, the five ascended the stairs to get to their common rooms.

~*~

The cheek of the boy!  Approaching him after class ended and asking if he was feeling all right.  Yes, I'm just fine and dandy, thank you very much!

Normally, it would please him to note Draco's perspicacity, but on this occasion, it irritated him that his odd behaviour was so easily picked up by the boy.   _Damn!_

She was late for class.  And he had given her a detention.  _Fool!_

Why was a detention necessary?  He did not give detentions to the 7th Years unless the offence was extremely serious.  And being 5 minutes late for class did _not_ constitute a serious enough offence that warranted a detention.  Not even by his strict standards.

What had made him issue that detention?  Was he out of his mind?  What had he hope to gain?  It was foolishness – pure and simple.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and let his anger out with a groan.  His judgement was compromised by the dream he had last night.

When he got to the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, his eyes had involuntarily sought out the brunette seated beside the fiery-haired Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.  However, not once during his surreptitious spying did she look towards him.  When Potter came to the Head Table with Miss Zabini, she'd looked up to grace her friend with a wave and a smile.  Nothing in her manners indicated that she was even aware of him.

But what had he expected?  A fairy tale plot device wherein she shares his dreams?  Was he so desperate for human contact, for human understanding and comfort, that he would consider his student, this _child_ as a potential for something more?  What had he hope would develop?  That she would absolve him from the guilt he carried?  That she would bring light to the darkness which abided in him?  For that matter, why should he fixate on _her_?  For all he knew, his dream wraith might take on the form of Minerva tonight.  _No, not Minerva_, he shuddered, _that would truly be a nightmare!_

He had shaken his head, feeling a little disappointed at his maudlin self for this sign of weakness.  Clenching his fist, he had resolved to put the matter of his dream aside and concentrate on getting through his Friday lessons – a trying 4th Year Slytherin and Gryffindor class after breakfast, with a free period that led up to lunch.  After lunch, he had 2nd Year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, followed by the S-paper class.

The S-paper class with Miss Granger and four other pupils.

Well, he was prepared to teach her.  What was the worst that could happen?  It was not as if his dream wraith was Miss Granger herself.  And with that thought fortifying him, he had looked forward to the final lesson of the day with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

He had intended to sweep into the classroom with his usual aplomb and launch into the day's lesson, totally ignoring the Gryffindor, but Miss Granger did not co-operate.  

No.  She just _had_ to be late for class.  Forcing him to take notice of her.  Forcing him to penalise her tardiness with a deduction of House points.  Forcing him to remember the comfort he'd felt with her in his arms.  Forcing his momentary lapse into a cloud in which he allowed himself to issue her a detention so that they could be alone.  Perhaps to explore the possibilities --?  _Damn you, Severus!_

_What are you on about, man? Stupid, stupid, stupid! That's what it is!_  He censured himself.  Y_ou were obviously not thinking!  What possibilities?  Merlin!  A dream wraith that comforted you is only an illusion created by your own depraved mind!  Damn you, Severus!  She's your student!_

"Four more hours until detention with Miss Granger.  A fitting punishment," he shook his head grimly.  The thing was, he wasn't quite sure who was going to be punished that evening.  He certainly felt as if he was the one being punished for giving her a detention – punished for a weakness in hoping for a dream come true, punished for pursuing the illusion of a dream wraith.

There were still four hours to figure out what he wanted her to do for detention.

**A/N:**  This chapter is dedicated to Draco fans everywhere.

I had to rewrite the whole backstory about Draco Malfoy.  The original had Hermione and Draco sign a Memorandum of Understanding because of their bickering, but I felt that it would be OCC for Malfoy to sign, especially if Daddykins were still lurking in the background.

I personally like Draco Malfoy's character – it has such great potential for story-telling, unlike the goody-goody Gryffindors.  Ok, _that_ was uncalled for.  However, the Gryffindors are always shown in a good and well-meaning light that makes the Slytherins' stories more compelling.  Also, I've often thought that Draco was a junior version of Severus – they both have that smirky nastiness, that aristocratic air, that certain _je ne sais quoi_.  Obviously junior Slytherins are not as subtle as the yummy mature ones, which is why I don't like older!Draco always portrayed as an obvious prat (where's that Slytherin subtlety?).  Also, Draco and Severus have a certain dynamism that is little explored in fandom (and I don't mean slash! *eep*) – which I hope to do justice to.  I've always thought that Severus' partiality towards the dragon was because he sees himself in the young man.  Now with the rewrite, I've inadvertently created an interesting development.  heh.   Besides, it would not be realistic to have mature!Hermione behaving immaturely in her interactions with others, would it?

**A/N2:**  Of course, the Mars exploration was NASA's **_Mars Pathfinder_**, which was lauched in 4 December 1996, and landed on the planet on 4 July 1997.  The probe sent back thousands of images of Mars on 8 August 1997. 

**A/N3:**  With regards to _Miss_ Zabini, frankly, when I first read the books, I thought that Blaise was a girl – it certainly sounded like a girl's name to me.  Blaise is not a common name where I live, therefore I just took it as a unique for a girl.  Later, whenI did discover that it was usually a boy's name, I then took it like a unisex name such as Jaime, Beverly, Sasha, or Brice.  Another reason for thinking it was a girl was because there is a distinct lack of interesting strong female student characters, apart from Hermione.  Oh, and a WIKTTeer mentioned in a post that in the Hebrew translation of HP, Blaise's translated name is in a feminine form.  So there. *sticks out tongue*

**Again, thank you reviewers!**  I love turning on my computer to see "Review Alert!" in my inbox – be it a one line "I like it" or a note about the parts you like.  It's fantastic encouragement to write.

Some of the reviewers have commented on the pace of this story.  This story is slow.  It _will_ be slow for a while.  Like Cicero said, "The causes of events are ever more interesting than the events themselves."  And I **_am_ interested in exploring the causes.**

Others have lots of questions and suggestions in their review.  Certainly, do keep them coming!  Some of your ideas, questions and suggestions will be incorporated into future chapters where possible.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

The Potions classroom door was ajar when Hermione reported for her detention.

"Good evening, Professor Snape."

"Miss Granger," he gave her a curt nod to acknowledge the greeting, but his eyes remained on the parchment before him.  Seated behind the massive granite topped desk, Snape looked like a sharp-eyed heron staring unblinkingly on the essay before him with nary a movement, until a sentence or idea caught his eyes and with quick efficiency, the quill was employed in correcting the error.  The cycle then repeated, until his eyes reached the final word on the parchment.

Satisfied with the completion of marking the essay, he finally looked up to scrutinise the girl who had stood a good 3 minutes in front of his desk in silence.

She used to be as easy to read as a picture book – _no pun intended_, his mind thought wryly.  Like a picture book, her face illustrated the contents of her thoughts.  He remembered detachedly how her 11-year-old eyes would light up eagerly in excitement whenever she knew the answer to _any_ question he had for the class.  He remembered that lip-chewing gesture she employed whenever she contemplated a particularly tough question and that smug, satisfied smile on her when she knew she had brewed the perfect potion.  Her worries for that idiot Longbottom whenever he skipped a step in following the potions instruction given, would manifest in a furrow in her forehead; her resentment towards Malfoy's Gryffindor-baiting would show in her flashing, narrow eyes.  It was not a surprise that he knew how to read her open emotions, he thought nonchalantly, as a teacher, a Slytherin, observation, after all, was a skill honed to perfection for Slytherins to gain the upper hand in dealing with their peers.  No, that simple reading of her emotions was just as easily transferred to remembering how Mr Weasley would get that twitch under his right eye, whenever his temper was barely reined in when humiliated in his Potions class.

But where had that emotionally open young girl gone?  In her place, there stood now a young woman, whose face and gestures betrayed nothing to him – no flashing angry eyes showing resentment at having to perform an unjust punishment and no lip-chewing concern about having to perform said punishment with him.  She stood blankly, aloofly, awaiting further instructions, not volunteering any comments or inane chatter – something she certainly would have done when she was younger.  She did not even fidget – nary an extra syllable or a stir while awaiting sentencing.  No, she wasn't easily read anymore, he considered, and much like his _Moste Potente Potions_, she was incomprehensible at parts, but held just as many intriguing discoveries within her covers.

"Madam Pomfrey has requested a batch of dreamless sleep potion for the Hospital Wing.  Apparently, the last Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match resulted in enough casualties to deplete the ample supply I had prepared for her at the start of the term.  I should have known that with Mr. Weasley heading the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the team strategy would prioritise recklessness over finesse," he finished with a sneer.

Hermione remained silent, but he could see her bridle her anger that smouldered just beneath the surface in her eyes.  Ah… so he had found a sensitive chink in her armour.  Briefly, he wondered at her relationship with the two young men.

He had very few exchanges with Ronald Weasley ever since he dropped Potions after his OWLs, but since Potter was made Head Boy for this academic year, he had had the "privilege" of sharing mentorship of the boy with Flitwick.  After all, the Head Boy and Girl, like the staff, were to be above such petty concerns like House affiliations.  The duty of the Head pupils were to support the staff in dealing with the more trivial infractions in all Houses, as well as to provide counselling and leadership to all Hogwarts' students, regardless of House.  Therefore, Potter's House colours and Gryffindor crest was removed from his uniform at the start of the academic year, and was given magical quarters that led to all the boys' dormitories in all the four Houses.  As much as the Head pupils were expected to support the staff, the staff was charged with mentoring them, in order that their leadership potential would be primed.  Hence, Snape found himself in the "happy" situation of fortnightly afternoon teas with Harry Potter.  So far, he had had two rather _instructive_ afternoon teas with the Head Boy, with another session lined up the following week.  From what he could gather during his _tête-à-tête_ with the bespectacled Head Boy, he seemed to be developing an interest in a certain raven-haired schoolmate.  _Which leaves Mr. Weasley..._

_And from Miss Granger's reaction at my barb--,_ he thought speculatively.  Truth be told, he had little interest in the social lives of his students, and even less so for the annoying Gryffindors and their incessant noise during mealtimes at the Great Hall.  Therefore, he had no idea if Miss Granger and Mr Weasley were involved or not.

Not that that bit of information was important to him at all.  Not at all.__

_What is wrong with you, Severus?_ He berated himself again for this niggling, unproductive thought.

Snape stood up suddenly.  "Come," he commanded.

Silently, Hermione followed the billowing shadow to the private potion store, through a door adjacent to the classroom, which housed Snape's private collection of potions ingredients.  Unlike the general potion store at the back of the potions classroom that housed the more harmless ingredients used by the younger students, Snape's private store contained ingredients that were rarer, potentially more poisonous or used in more potent potions.  _Like boomslang skin and powdered bicorn horn_, thought Hermione sardonically.

Since her visit to Snape's private stores in her 2nd Year, Hermione had gone back for repeat visits both covertly and openly.  Evidently, the younger Hermione did not know that Snape allowed the 6th and 7th Years access to his private stores when they opted to study Potions for their NEWTs.  On hindsight, Hermione realised that it was inevitable that the older pupils got easier access to these ingredients, which would naturally be dangerous in younger, more inexperienced hands.

The shadow stopped just inside the open door, "You should be able to gather all the ingredients you need for the potion here," he told her unnecessarily.  "Make enough to fill these bottles," he indicated a crate out in the Potions classroom, which held about fifty smaller glass bottles, "It should take you the better part of 3 hours to get done."  He hesitated then, thoughtful, as if he wanted to add something more, but then carefully schooled his face.  When it seemed that Hermione was not going to make any response to him, he sneered and added gruffly, "Well?  What are you waiting for?"

Hermione was startled into action by his brusque tone.  So, he wouldn't be providing a potion recipe for her to follow then.  _Git_, she thought nastily, followed by a wry mental snort, _fortunately, I can make the dreamless sleep potion in my sleep.  _Brushing her shoulders past the Professor to get through the narrow door, she turned and bent down by his tall form to pick up a basket from the pile next to the man.  It took all of Snape's willpower to remain standing impassively when after retrieving a basket, Hermione stood up in such close proximity to him.

The potions store was a long narrow room with a high ceiling, magically kept at an optimal temperature of 4 degree Celsius to preserve the ingredients and keep out pests.  On left side of the room from the doorway, were rows upon rows of small neat drawers from the chest level to the floor, filled with dried potions ingredients, arranged by the universal Apothecary standard classification.  Atop these drawers was a space where various weighing scales and jars were stored for ease in measuring out the necessary dried ingredients.  Above this shelf were warded drawers holding the most toxic dried ingredients, which only Snape himself could retrieve.

The right side of the room held various aqueous solutions in large glass jars on open shelves.  Plant extracts and animal parts floating in preservation fluids were within easy reach on the shelves.  The upper shelves held rare potion ingredients, those which are not usually utilised in potion-making textbooks in the school curriculum, and the bottom shelves held the more corrosive liquids, which were warded in specially charmed unbreakable glass jars on the bottom shelf to minimise accidents.

There was a long granite-topped table with a deep sink at the far end of the potion storeroom holding various measuring beakers, knives and bottles for the initial preparation of the ingredients.  Potion makers would use this area to measure out the necessary liquids or preserved animal parts before moving the ingredients out to the classroom for brewing.  By the only door of the room was a cabinet charmed to hold fresh potions ingredients at freezing temperature.  This magical equivalent of a muggle refrigerator stood beside the pile of baskets.

Muttering a warming spell on her person, Hermione breathed in – _that scent of spices!_  For a moment she faltered and frowned, confused.  It was a scent familiar to her, but she couldn't place it.  Determined not to draw Snape's attention to herself, she breathed in the frigid air again and moved quickly towards the drawers.

With Hermione standing momentarily so close to him, all thoughts Snape had left him. _ When had she grown so tall?  _Indeed, Hermione was one of the tallest girls in the school, towering over half the boys in her level.  As it was, she was only a few inches shorter than her Potions Master, a fact he could plainly see with her back so close to his front.  Riveted to the floor scant inches away from the girl, the Professor felt the sudden warmth radiating from her from her warming spell.  The warmth assaulted his scent glands with her head perfume of lusciously ripe, red summer strawberries from her riotous brown curls just in front of his nose, and instantly, the image, scent and warmth of her form from last night's dream was brought to the forefront of his mind.

_Sweet Athena!_

Just as he found the resolve to step back from her, she had already moved forward to the left, brushing past him once again.

~*~

Hermione peered surreptitiously at the Professor marking behind the teacher's desk, as she stirred the bubbling cauldron.

She would readily admit it to anyone who would ask – she was _very_ disconcerted by Snape's presence, although she took great pains not to show it.  She figured that Snape had purposely set about to unnerve her just to make the detention more unpleasant than it usually was.

_Like any detention could ever be fun_, she thought wryly.

It wasn't as if she didn't have anything better to do on a Friday night, she reflected.  This detention was both an inconvenience and a huge waste of valuable research time.  Since she had decided long ago that she would get involved in the war on her own terms, she had been spending what little time she had apart from her standard schoolwork, her special paper classes and her 3rd Year remedial lessons, practically living in the library, ploughing through a ton of research materials in the hope of finding something, anything, to hamper Voldemort's rise and to bring him and his minions down.

Therefore, she was less than thrilled to be stuck wasting 3 hours in the Potions classroom serving detention, brewing the very simple dreamless sleep potion.

_Although_… in a purely un-Hermione schoolgirlish way, she supposed that her dream of the Professor last night _could_ have contributed to her nerves somewhat.  Only in the most _abstract_ way, of course.  Not that –_God forbid!_ – she had a crush or anything on the elderly Professor.

_Eeeww… Honestly Hermione, the dream-guy was mostly in the dark, and he felt much younger, you know?  He'd only turned out to be Snape at the last second.  It was definitely not him, _she huffed.  She couldn't explain how she knew that the man had felt younger, only that he was.__

_How old was the git, anyway?_  She stole another look at the lined face and the crooked, hooked nose which was partially hidden by a curtain of black, lanky hair.

Honestly, she had never taken time to consider his age, nor had she found it necessary to do so.  Apart from his Potions classes, and the occasional altercations Harry, Ron and herself got into with him in their younger days, she had not given much thought about Professor Snape's private life – certainly not anymore than she had considered Professor McGonagall's or that of any of the other Professors.  It was not surprising really.  In her childhood innocence, she had thought of her teachers as larger than life caricatures, and they fell neatly into one of three distinct categories.

The first category was obviously the "nice" teachers.  They were "nice" because they treated the students "nicely", and did not expect much from their pupils.  They usually allowed classroom discipline to be a little slack in their "niceness" and blamed it on "children being children".  Both Hagrid and Lockhart were examples of "nice" teachers.  So was Quirrell.

The second category belonged to the "boring" teachers.  Like Binns, they were uninspiring and their teaching style left much to be desired.  Fortunately, most of Hogwarts teachers were a little livelier than Binns, no puns intended.

The last category belonged to the "disagreeable" teachers, to put it diplomatically.  These were the teachers you did not want to cross your path with.  They were extremely strict, expected a lot from their pupils and controlled the class with an iron fist.  Like Snape.  Or McGonagall, if she were really honest with herself.

The other Hogwarts Professors were a combination of all the categories.  There were times that Professor Filtwick went on and on about some Charms to the point that Hermione had tears in her eyes.  Also, she doubted that nice Professor Vector would ever be able to control a combined class of Slytherin-Gryffindors with her brand of classroom management.

Hermione shook her head.  Brewing potions, like all work of concentration, always set her mind in a meditative mode that allowed it free to wander.  Many an introspective thought was literally brewed in the quiet efficiency of her potions classes.

So, back to the original question:  How old was Snape?

_Going by looks_, she glanced at the Professor again, _I'd wager, at least fifty.  _

But it was impossible to tell with wizards – Dumbledore was a robust 157 that year, and although McGonagall looked in her late 50s, she could very well be much older.  Also, not to mention the magic available to the wizarding community through glamours, charms and potions – a vain 90 year-old witch could very well look a sprightly 20 year-old if she so desired.

Therefore, she could not rely on her sense of sight.  She'll have to use her rational then.  She remembered her meeting with the fugitive Sirius Black back in her 3rd Year.  Sirius had been in Snape's cohort at school.  Ergo, Snape ought to be the same age as Harry's godfather.  She thought back to the dark-haired animagus and tried to determine his age.

_I won't put him pass 40_, she furrowed her brows, _but I could be wrong.  I wonder if there are Annuals in the library that chronicles Hogwarts' history?_

Curiosity piqued, Hermione knew that she would solve this enigma in no time at all.

Hermione's right hand reached out for the bottle of _keluak_ oil and put two drops into the cauldron.  At once the Potions Master stood up and confronted her.

"What on earth are you doing?"

In her confusion at the tone of his voice, Hermione jolted out of her reverie and stared blankly at Snape.

"The oil, girl, the oil.  Dreamless sleep potions do not require _keluak_ oil."

Hermione looked at the oil bottle in her hand and turned to her Professor, looking a little affronted, "The dreamless sleep recipe before 1995 did not contain _keluak_ oil.  As _you_ would know, the _keluak_ oil is a recent addition to the UK's potion making vocabulary, but the mystics in the Indonesian islands have long used it for its ambrosial properties.  In the 1995 copy of _Modern Potions of Our Time_ published by the International Society of Potion Researchers, the recipe clearly included the addition of the oil.  Apparently the oil not only helps the potion effect faster, it binds the asphodel to the lavender better, creating a less addictive, but more powerful dreamless sleep potion.  Also, the oil makes the potion more palatable by removing the bitter aftertaste."

Snape looked surprised at Hermione's impromptu lecture.  For almost the entire two hours in the classroom, the girl did not even breathe a word, apart from her greeting when she reported for detention.  He had intended, by not giving Miss Granger the recipe for the dreamless sleep potion, to rankle her or at least get her to request his expertise on the subject.  But that opportunity was lost when she moved efficiently through the potions store, collecting, measuring and processing the potion ingredients, as if she'd spent all her life in that long narrow room.

When he saw that she was quite capable of completing the task on her own, he returned to marking the 4th Years' assignments.  The dreamless sleep brewing process was a time-based potion, as it required ingredients to be put in at intervals of 5 minutes.  Consequently, he had timed his marking of each essay to be completed in less than 5 minutes, so that he could observe that Miss Granger made no mistake in creating a potion that was meant for the Hospital Wing.  Not that Miss Granger had _ever_ knowingly made a mistake in potions brewing, but it was always better to be safe than sorry in matters such as these.

Therefore, just when she'd added the _keluak_ oil, he was up from his desk faster than one could say 'Neville Longbottom', only to be _lectured_ by the impertinent girl on the uses of the _keluak_ oil in a dreamless sleep potion!  Well!

Not used to being corrected by a student, the Potions Master stood glaring at his pupil and merely confirmed with narrowed eyes, "_Modern Potions of Our Time_, you say?"

The girl, realising that she had used what Ron called "The Voice of She Who Must Be Obeyed" on her _Professor_, blushed to her roots and nodded, adding meekly, "I read it some time ago whilst researching poisons of South East Asia; the reading had a cross reference to the use of _keluak_ oil in dreamless sleep, which led me to the research into variants of the dreamless sleep."

She knew she was babbling in embarrassment.  _Oh Hermione, haven't you learnt by now to keep your big mouth shut?  Or do you really think Snape is interested to know about your research into the poisons of South East Asia or the variants of the dreamless sleep?_

If the Professor was surprise at her extra-curricula investigations, he did not show it.  Instead, he sat himself down on a student's chair in front of her, folded his arms on his chest, stared at her pointedly and asked, "What else can you tell me about dreamless sleep potions?"

**A/N1:** I particularly love the "she is as easy to read as a book" imagery.  I like to think of Gryffindors as picture books, Ravenclaws as technical/text books, Hufflepuffs as self-help books and Slytherins as novels, particularly Mystery novels. heh.

**A/N2:  **_keluak_ oil – This ingredient is based on an Indonesian black nut (Buah Keluak) that is poisonous unless treated by burying in volcanic ash and banana leaves for 40 days.  Once treated, it tastes magical when cooked in a curry. *grins*

**Thanks, again to all those that reviewed!**  Thanks for all your encouragement and "Update soon"s!  I'm glad to see that you like the Draco backstory, and that some of you found the MOU an interesting take on things.  In view of the Draco fans, I've arranged it such that we'll be seeing that charming Slytherin a whole lot more. *grins*  Draco _does_ have a Sunday dinner coming up, after all.

*waves to Redstrawberry900 and Athena*  recognise something? *grins*


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

"So how did the detention go last night?" asked Ron, draping an arm around Hermione's drooping shoulders at breakfast the next morning.

"It was okay, I guess," Hermione gave him a wan smile and shrugged in reply, knowing that Ron's polite greeting was not an attempt to get any details out of her.  In truth, Hermione was still a little unsure about how her detention went last night, and was not up to discussing it with anyone.

She grabbed her spoon and turned her attention back to her porridge, diverting Ron's attention back into a discussion about the up-coming Quidditch match between the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws that afternoon.  Whilst Ron was preoccupied in a discussion with the other Gryffindors about the strategies each team would likely use, Hermione's mind tried to make sense of the puzzle that was her detention.

The detention had begun as she had expected it to.  She had anticipated that Snape would begin with his usual barbs and sarcasms, so she had steeled herself from causing further aggravation to both herself and the man by keeping silent.  In fact, she had kept her silence up until she added that _keluak_ oil into the dreamless sleep potion.

When confronted about her actions, her iron-clad hold on herself was suddenly let loose, and she found herself uncharacteristically (or characteristically, Ron and Harry would argue) illuminating Snape about the potion ingredient, as if he were one of her 3rd Year remedial students!

Then, Merlin!  Instead of exploding into his usual dark temper and berating her for her impertinence in correcting him, the Potions Master sat down in front of her, his marking forgotten, and had asked her what else _she_ knew of dreamless sleep potions!  Honestly, at that moment last night, she swore she'd entered some alternate universe, where she'd half expected a TV crew to appear out of the woodwork and tell her to "smile, you're on _Candid Camera_".

After that bewildering question the Professor asked her, they had then begun a strange dialogue about dreamless sleep potions and whether immunity to the potion could be built up.  He had quizzed her on her extensive readings and research into the matter and had asked whether it was possible to tailor-make a dream sequence.

Challenged, she had replied as best she could – that yes, there was a possibility of becoming immune to the potion, as according to recent research, dreamless sleep addicts seem to need a higher dosage in order to experience dreamless sleep.  And tailor-made dreams were still a possibility; in fact, Zanzibar Xerxes of the Persian Potions Institute created the dream-dye potion that changed the colours people dreamt in, just in the last decade.

From a discussion about variants to dreamless sleep potions, they had digressed to the key ingredients in potions affecting dreams, and from there, to dream symbols in both the wizarding and muggle viewpoints.  They delved into an in-depth analysis of Freud and Jungian differences in attributing meaning to certain dream symbols, and skimmed briefly on the more risqué dream symbols – during which Hermione got very uncomfortable, especially since she had just dreamt of her Professor in a _very_ compromising position the night before.  However, Hermione managed to school her features sufficiently and maintain a cool demeanour, and was convinced that Professor Snape never knew how much _he_ had featured in her recent dream.

By the time she had bottled and labelled all fifty bottles in the crate, it was past 11pm and she was exhausted both physically and mentally.  Although brewing the dreamless sleep potion was not difficult, the bottling and labelling of the bottles had to be done by hand, which was tedious work.  Added to the mental workout she had in her first lengthy civil dialogue with the Professor, she was almost ready to fall asleep where she stood.

_Civil dialogue – not quite a quiz, but not really a conversation either, _she snorted mentally._  Still, Ron will probably freak out if he knew that Snape was capable of holding a civil dialogue with a Gryffindor without resorting to deducting House points when there's a disagreement_, she mused as she glanced towards the Chaser whose arms were now draped over her chair.

After Hermione cleared up the worktable, it was almost midnight.  Due to the lateness of the hour, the Professor had told her that he would escort her back to the Gryffindor Tower.  Just before leaving the classroom, Snape had pocketed a bottle of the potion, explaining that he needed to test the potion for its efficacy before he could deliver the crate of dreamless sleep to the Hospital Wing.  Along the way towards the Tower, they had walked in silence, with the Professor's hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the long, dark corridors of the castle.

Bone deep with exhaustion, and fighting tired eyes, she was glad for her Professor's escort to the portrait of the Fat Lady.  She was sure that had the Professor not accompanied her back, she might have dropped off into a sleeping heap somewhere along the corridors.  Vaguely, she remembered that the Fat Lady had tsked at her for coming back so late past curfew, but had conversed a little with her Professor.  She remembered having said goodnight to Professor Snape and stumbling into the Common Room, climbing the stairs to the girls' dormitory and somehow managing to change into her sky-blue flannel cat-print pyjamas and falling dead to sleep.

_Didn't even take the time to brush my teeth – what would mum say?_ she snorted mentally, turning her wandering attention to Seamus who was currently explaining how the October weather and strong winds expected that afternoon would adversely affect the lighter members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team more than the heavy-set Slytherin team.

~*~

Up on the dais, where the High Table was, the Head of Slytherin looked surreptitiously towards the senior students at the Gryffindor Table.  The usual Quidditch crowd seemed to congregate around the Gryffindor Captain, hanging on to his every word, whilst the Captain himself had his arm draped across Miss Granger's shoulders, talking rather intimately with her. 

_Hmm…perhaps there is something going on with the two of them after all_, he speculated snidely, _which is just as well…_

Severus Snape hated Saturdays.

And it did not help matters that when he got up that morning, he was feeling quite refreshed and alert.  No, it did not help his surly mood at all knowing that Miss Know-It-All Granger was proven right, _again_.  As usual, the dreamless sleep potion she'd brewed the night before was flawless, and, as a matter of fact, vastly superior to the recipe he had used.  And all because of the addition of two drops of oil from a potion ingredient he was unfamiliar with.  He rolled his eyes, taking another sip from his cup of Turkish coffee that the house-elves had brewed to perfection.

It irritated him to some extent that he was shown up by a pupil, even if it was by one of his best pupils.  Fortunately, he had no audience when Miss Granger had so kindly elucidated the origins and properties of the oil to him, otherwise he might have to remind her in no uncertain terms of her place.

_Pity,_ he sneered.

To add to his annoyance, because of the potion's efficacy, he truly had dreamless sleep last night – no screams, no terrifying visions, no nightmare.  _And no Dream either._  (Yes, his exquisite Dream of the night before had been elevated to deserving initial caps, thank you very much.)  But then again, he did not put too much stock into having a recurrence of the Dream – it was only an aberration, and something he quite undeserved.

_Enough!  Enough of that unproductive maudlin thought!  _He admonished himself, buttering a piece of toast efficiently.  His task completed, he took a cleansing breath, bit into the buttered toast, and re-directed his inner thoughts._  Hmm…Keluak oil.  Worth looking up after breakfast, before the Quidditch match this afternoon_.

Snape knew that all his naïve students believed that when it came to potions, he knew all there was to know about it.  Frankly, he had never corrected their erroneous belief and had instead encouraged that preposterous notion.

Although he may have graduated from the Merlin University at top of his class, and then became the youngest person in the last 50 years to attain the title of Potions Master, he never rested on his laurels; for the study of potions was a vast one, covering topics as diverse as ancient potions, potion ingredients, potion techniques, modern potions and a whole host of other research in the field.  Even being well-steeped into the world of potions as he was, there were always new ideas, ground-breaking discoveries and new research being published.  For the sake of both his teaching and interest, he had always kept a finger on the pulse on current developments in the study of potions.

He was quite familiar with _Modern Potions Of Our Time, _the text Miss Granger referred to the night before, and chances were high that he had a copy of it sitting somewhere on the shelf in his private library.  Somehow, he must have missed reading the article about the improved recipe for the dreamless sleep potion – Merlin knew that what with teaching, lesson preparations, marking, Housemaster duties, spying for Dumbledore and his weekly Death Eater duties, he had barely the time to pursue his own reading interests – and not just those in potions research.  He had hundreds of potions books, journals and documents accumulated in his private library that he'd hardly read from cover to cover – most of them had bookmarks sticking out, marking the pages to articles he was interested in, or potions research that he was focussed on, and he lived for the summer holidays when his teaching duties were non-existent to luxuriate in researching and publishing his research.

And then there were his other books that marked his eclectic reading habits – Muggle and Wizarding literature, History books, books on philosophy, charms, psychology, transfiguration, military strategy, alchemy, politics; books that reflected his voracious appetite for knowledge; books that counterbalanced his personal interest in the subtle Art of potions.

At heart, the Professor was a scholar, and were it not for the circumstances in the war that led him to throw himself at Dumbledore's feet, he knew with certainty that he would still be engaged in academia, and probably be teaching in the Potions department at the Merlin University, so that he could immerse himself in his relentless pursuit of knowledge.  Not that he had any great love for teaching, but he fancied that students reading Potions at the university would already have some competency and interest in Potions, and he need not contend with teaching dunderheads, the like of Longbottoms or Goyles or Summers.

_Well, if wishes were horses --_, he chewed his toast contemplatively.

He took another quiet glace towards the brunette, who was no longer at her seat, but was now seated with a group of 3rd Year Gryffindors, engaged in an animated discussion.  He was rather surprised last night by her maturity and composure in the manner which she'd served her detention.  But he was even more amazed at the confident way she had dealt with his brusque intervention in her method of brewing the potion.

Their conversation after that was the highlight of his night.  He had seen the glint of excitement in her eyes as she launched into a lengthy, but coherent explanation of the long-term effects of dreamless sleep on its users, and was bemused that she was able to quote chapter and verse regarding certain research into tailoring the dreamscape.  He was impressed with her comprehensive readings with regards to the topic of dreams, and could hold her own in their discussion of abstract ideas of dream symbols.  He was a little disappointed to find that Miss Granger was not at all self-conscious or embarrassed when discussing Jungian ideas about sexual dreams and he took it as evidence that she did not carry a _tendre_ for him.  Not that he had led them into an in-depth discussion on sexual dreams, mind – he was after all, a male teacher, and she a female student, and they were both alone in the potions classroom; he would never insinuate anything inappropriate with her, as long as he was a Hogwarts teacher, and she in her Hogwarts uniform.

Which is just as well, Severus, that you put that foolish notion of the Dream aside.  There are more at stake here than dreams and wishes!

Which lead to the main reason for his dark mood that morning: It was Saturday.

And Severus Snape hated Saturdays.

For contrary to popular belief, Death Eater meetings were not held at Voldemort's whims and fancy – no, Voldemort may _be_ a megalomaniac, but he was a visionary, a strategist and a systems man at heart.

_If he were a man and if he had a heart_, Snape sneered.

The truth was that the evil genius knew that effective armies are well-oiled machines and discipline and rituals were required to maintain a high level of mental alertness and motivation in the ranks.  Therefore, the Dark Commander-in-Chief had instituted a four-hour long weekly programme on the least disruptive night of the week, for the purposes of motivating the troops, information dissemination, and training in the Dark Arts.

Thus, after much deliberation, Saturday night was picked for the implementation of the Death Eaters' Training programme.  Weeknights were deemed unsuitable as most Death Eaters held regular day jobs, and going to work excessively tired would doubtlessly rouse the suspicions of nosy colleagues.  Besides, Sundays allowed the Death Eaters to sleep in without unnecessary questions – time that allowed the rank and file to recover from their training and the inevitable disciplinary measures meted out.  More so, as tougher training sessions have begun in earnest from the start of that year.

Holding the meetings on Saturdays also allowed the dark minions greater ease in coming up with air-tight alibis for their whereabouts, which would be extremely difficult to do, if the witches and wizards were expected to drop whatever activities they were engaging in to Apparate to Voldemort's unplottable lair.  Most Death Eaters merely transfigure an object to their likeness to put into their beds, creating a perfect alibi for the hours between midnight and 4 am – time that was unlikely for checks by the Ministry, without rousing the wrath of the wizarding community at large.

The careful structure of the army was organised and supported by a full-time elite squad of wizards in Voldemort's employ – his most trusted core of officers.  Like Lucius before his untimely demise, these officers were rich enough not to need employment, so they were able to use all their resources in overseeing recruitment, organisation, training and strategic planning.

On a level below this elite squad were the Specialists.  All the members in this group were masters in their magical fields, and their duties in the Dark Army included training the troops as well as acting as advisors to Voldemort in his strategic planning.  Most of these specialists were employed by either the Ministry of Magic or by private enterprises, but were underappreciated by their employers.  Voldemort was able to entice these people to join his cause with promises of power, prestige and purpose, as many were dissatisfied by the incompetence of Cornelius Fudge's management of the Ministry of Magic.

Needless to say, Severus Snape was a member of the Specialists, heading the Potions training department.

The largest group in the Army was of course, the ground troop.   In the three years since Voldemort's official reappearance, Dark army had quadrupled its ranks from the 33 Death Eaters in all of UK who managed not to be thrown into Azkaban, into what it was today.  Again, unlike popular belief, Slytherins do not make up the bulk of Death Eaters in the ground troop – the loyal Hufflepuffs and brave Gryffindors did.  Instead, most of the crafty Slytherin and intelligent Ravenclaw Death Eaters were involved in the operations side of Death Eater activities.

Voldemort's strategy was to employ the best traits of the Death Eaters, as revealed by Hogwarts' Sorting Hat.  Also, it helped Voldemort greatly that the ministry nincompoops were so focussed on scrutinizing his sly Slytherin members to even consider that he had dark wizards from the other three Houses in his ranks.

Snape shook his head.  He knew the set up of Death Eaters intimately, having spent the last 3 years quietly observing its operations and deconstructing its philosophy and mission – if only he were able to identify exactly _who_ made up the army.  He had reported all that he knew of the Death Eaters and their activities to Dumbledore; but unless he could correctly identify its individual members, it was difficult for Dumbledore's Order to monitor and spy on the key members of the Death Eaters.

Spying had been made harder for Snape since Voldemort's second rising, as the Dark Lord had become extremely obsessed with the security of his army.  Voldemort was convinced that his first defeat by the Boy Who Lived was due in part to traitors within his rank.  In addition, his army had been decimated by the trials after his defeat, wherein some of his Death Eaters had betrayed their brethrens and had given their names to the Ministry in return for their own freedom.  Although none of his 33 returned Death Eaters would ever admit to betraying the others, Voldemort was not interested in repentance, but in his typical amoral mentality, had re-exerted his dominion over them through an initial example of excruciating punishment for the each of them, and had them, through a rhetoric of forgiveness, promises of rewards for faithfulness, and threats of severe torture for betrayal, had reinstated all 33 Death Eaters once again into his favour, in order to forge his new Army.

Therefore, the new Dark army had strict regulations about the wearing of the Death Eater masks and robes at all times, to prevent individuals from being known to one another.  Also, Death Eaters were put on a need-to-know basis on most operations, and even in the training of the Dark Arts.  Snape did not even know the name of the Death Eater he reported to for his training assignments – he only referred to his superior as "3"; nor did he know the identities of any of the Death Eaters he trained.  Snape himself was known in the organisation as "7", an irony he could not help smirk at.  Only the Dark Lord was able to identify the Death Eaters through their link with him and their Dark Mark, which was also used for mobilising his troops whenever the Dark Lord needed their services.

As expected, the tight security hampered Snape's ability to gather as much information as he would like.  Also, in order not to blow his cover, he was duty-bound to provide Dark Arts training to the Death Eaters.  Fortunately, because he was a trainer, he was able to provide Dumbledore the Dark Arts syllabus the Death Eaters had to be trained in.  This was extremely useful information for the current DADA instructor and the Order for them to come up with counter spells and defence training.  Regrettably, Snape was not able to get the full syllabus, as Voldemort was also guarding the training manual remarkably carefully.  The toll of 3 years' worth of weekly spying, training and keeping up appearances frustrated him greatly, and he longed for the war to get on quickly.  Staying in this 'limbo' state was draining him significantly – a battle would ensure that the weight he carried would soon be over.  And frankly, at this point, he neither cared whether he lived to see through the war. 

16 hours to go before my personal hell begins, he sighed.  Well, off to the library then.

The Head of Slytherin got up from his chair, nodded towards the Headmaster, and with robes billowing, left the High Table towards the exit of the Great Hall.

He did not see a pair of amused grey eyes following his form out of the doors. 

**A/N:** Heh.  I'm glad you really like how "She Who Must Be Obeyed" stood up to the Professor in the last chapter.

Well, this is the longest chapter I have so far, and it took me quite a long time to hammer it out.  There are a lot of background detail in this chapter, folks, and I would really like to hear what you have to say about them – especially about the structure of Voldemort's army.  Constructive criticisms are always welcome.

Dream?  It will happen again, but not so soon.  But the _Dreams_ will be crucial.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

"Charms.  Charms.  Charms.  I knew I should have taken Charms in addition to the other subjects," Hermione groaned, feeling a tension headache coming on, as she picked up another book – _Magical Artefacts: A Charming Perspective_ by Omar Bin Ahazar, from the pile of books blanketing the library table.

As much as Hermione had a natural giftedness in the magical arts, she knew that her study of Charms was not up to par as the students in Professor Flitwick's S-paper Charms class.  If only she had opted to do Charms with Harry, instead of Transfiguration… or Ancient Runes… or Arithmancy… or Potions.

_No, not Potions_, she thought, frowning.  Potions was a subject that appealed to her greatly – for didn't she opt to do Potions despite knowing that as a Gryffindor, she would undoubtedly face antagonism from the taciturn Potions Professor?

She grimaced in frustration.  This internal musing will not help her solve her current problem.  Charms – hmm… she could go to Harry with this problem, but he was not taking Charms at S-paper level, now was he?  But who was?  She would have to find out from Harry about this, then.

Hermione looked around Hogwarts' vast library, but found that apart from herself, there were barely a handful of other students silently doing their own reading.  It _was_ an unusually warm Sunday afternoon for the autumn after all, and surely most of the student population would be found outdoors on Hogwarts' grounds while the weather remained warm; rather than be cooped up in the castle, much less studying obscure Charms texts.

Perhaps she ought to abandon this futile research and seek Ron or Harry out for some company.  Perhaps they could spend some time flying around the Quidditch pitch or over the lake – flying with the wind in her face and hair was a physical exercise that sometimes helped clear her mind.  It would be good to relief the tension headache she felt mounting.  Who knows?  A spot of flying in the fresh Scottish air might even enable her to overcome this impediment in her research.

Picking up her wand, she banished the books on the table back to their places on the shelves and put away her belongings into her school bag.  She then shrunk the bag and put it into her jeans pocket.  It being the weekend with no official school activities, the dress code allowed both staff and students to dispense with the Hogwarts uniform and robe.  Most of the students at Hogwarts – muggleborn and otherwise, were glad for this, and were decked out comfortably in the simple muggle fashion of jeans and jumpers.

Hermione headed towards the Quidditch pitch, where the broom shed was located and took out one of the ubiquitous school brooms.  She tied her hair up into a ponytail, and took out her wand to do a simple locating charm for Harry and Ron.  Her wand pointed Harry out quite a distance away, on the other side of the lake, south of her.  However, Harry's location was moving quickly further south, and she knew that it would be impossible to catch up with him, even if she had the best broom on the market.  Her location spell for Ron showed that her friend was somewhere much nearer her.  Hands over her eyes, she searched the western sky expectantly and easily spotted an unmistakable Weasley jumper getting smaller by the second.

_Ron, then_, she thought to herself, _I'll be able to hit him with an alert charm when I get nearer him so that he knows I'm on his tail_.  Mounting her broom, she was just about to take off after Ron, when she heard someone calling her name.

"Hey Hermione!  Wait up!"

She turned towards the voice and was pleasantly surprised to see Draco Malfoy jogging up to her with his Comet Stream over his right shoulder.

"Hi Draco!  Oh, and congrats on yesterday's Quidditch match!" she grinned.

"Thanks," he replied, "but it really wasn't much of a challenge against Cho's 3rd Year replacement," he smirked.  "Even Harry and myself played better at our first matches than Jemina.  She was obviously overwhelmed by the whole experience.  The Eagles' Chasers were good though and managed to score some points, but Ackerley still has far to go in his skills as Keeper.  It was fortunate that I ended the game rather quickly, otherwise Slytherin would have totally humiliated them."

Hermione snorted, "I'm sure you kind-hearted Slytherins would have been just _devastated_ to allow that to happen," she rolled her eyes, mockingly.

Draco merely grinned back at her, shaking his head.

Hermione looked west, but could not see Ron anywhere in the cloudless sky.  

_Oh well, and looks like I'm flying solo today…unless –, _she turned to Draco with an inviting smile and asked, "Want to fly with me?"

"Sure, lead on," was his reply, as he mounted the fastest broom his galleons could buy.  "I'll try my best to keep up with you," he teased.

"Oh, honestly!" the girl smirked and flew off south, towards the lake.

~*~

"Well done on yesterday's Quidditch match, Draco.  It was an excellent game," the Housemaster lifted up his wine glass and toasted his godson, with an upturned pull on the corner of his lips and glint of pride in his eyes.

The young man returned the compliment with an immodest smile and a tip of his own wine glass.  "Actually, Severus," he said, after taking a sip of the red wine, "as I told Hermione this afternoon, the match was already in Slytherin's favour.  With Ravenclaw's inexperienced Seeker and Keeper, it was a simple win for us."

The older man paused for a very slight moment, but Draco, who was surreptitiously watching for his reaction took careful note of it.

"True, true," Severus recovered quickly, "but I know you better than for you to underestimate your opponents."

"You are right as usual," the blonde smiled.  "Whilst the Eagles have an inexperienced Seeker and Keeper, they do have the best Chasers in Hogwarts, apart from the Weasley siblings.  Which was why I still fielded our senior Beaters and Keeper in our first match.  Psychologically, it'll give our younger team members a boost, as well as put the fear of the Snakes into the hearts of the other Houses."  He paused and turned thoughtful.  "I do intend to try the younger lot out against the Hufflepuffs in our next match – at least for the position of Keeper and for one of the Beaters.  I know for certain that Gryffindor is trying out their new Seeker soon – Childe, if I'm not mistaken, to give her some field experience, no doubt in a match with Hufflepuff too.  I would need to have a Seeker replace me by March next year, as well as train a new Captain to take over."

Severus smiled and nodded in approval of Draco's long-term strategy.  It was not often that young men of Draco's age considered the long-term effects of their decisions.  They tend to be shortsighted and impulsive in their decision-making.

Draco continued with a slight frown, "Before that takes place, our Quidditch training will not only have to intensify, but our current lot of 6th and 7th Years will have to mentor and work more closely with the potential younger ones.  Otherwise, like Hermione pointed out this afternoon," he looked up at his godfather with a shake of his head, "the level of Hogwarts' Quidditch games would deteriorate in the next few years, especially with the graduation of the current 6th and 7th Years – though I doubt that her prediction of a Hufflepuff team winning the Quidditch Cup in the new millennium will ever come to pass," he snorted, "I totally agree with her that without a systematic team renewal, the chances of maintaining whatever lead we've got will not hold out.  Presently, Gryffindors and Slytherins are strong because our teams are led by more experienced members.  However, if we don't put a system of identifying potential young players and training them in place, but base the Slytherin Quidditch training on the whims of whoever captains it, then we might end up bottom of the Quidditch table like in the mid-80s when Patrick Blood captained the team.  Or like the Gryffindors when five of their members graduated from Hogwarts, and we won the cup early this year.  Hermione says it was inevitable to lose the cup then, and insist that the Weasley siblings would make up for it this year.  Of course I did not tell her so, but I think she's right – it will be very tough to mark the Weasleys – they're almost telepathic, the way they play."

Draco turned his attention back to his dinner as his godfather made a suitable comment about Draco's effective captaining of the Snake's team.  Then, the two men ate in a comfortable, yet thoughtful silence for a time.

Their thoughts, however, were not at all on Quidditch, although they were not so dissimilar to each other's.

Severus' highly attuned Slytherin senses were on the alert when Draco mentioned Hermio- …Miss Granger's name not once, not twice, but three times; and it was especially significant when he considered that Miss Granger need not be mentioned at all to get Draco's point across.

Since the death of Draco's parents, Severus had taken upon himself to be responsible for the boy's upbringing and welfare, and thus instituted the weekly meal as a means of allowing Draco a space where he could be himself away from the prying eyes and gossiping tongues at the Great Hall and the Common Room.  During this 3-hour session with his godfather, Draco was allowed to share his thoughts, concerns and growing pains and be a boy – a luxury that most Slytherins do not get in the Snake's Den.  Naturally, the concerns of the boy included the antics of his peers, especially that of his "nemeses" – the Gryffindor Trio, as well as his peers in Slytherin and the other Houses.  Their past years' dinner conversation topics ranged from the usual Quidditch decisions Draco had to endure when he was merely a Seeker, to his own plans for the team when he became team Captain, and brought home the Quidditch Cup the year before.  Other topics of discussion included school ground prattles of pranks, amusing accounts of classroom tomfoolery, what the student body thought of their Professors and their teaching (which was a very _interesting_ topic of discussion where Severus was concern), and lately, the relationship pairings of the older students in Hogwarts.

_It was inevitable – Draco is growing up_, he thought with a glance at the young man sitting across him.

Severus remembered the start of Draco's 6th Year when he came to dinner complaining about Miss Granger's almost tit-for-tat animosity against his baiting of the Gryffindors.  The conflict got so bad that Draco, in typical Slytherin fashion, manipulated the situation such that both Draco and Miss Granger were able to overcome that situation, and allowed both to come out of it smelling like roses.

_Memorandum of Understanding, indeed!_

Since then, without their usual acrimony, Draco and Miss Granger maintained a healthy rivalry in their shared classes, and met each other out of classes in an entirely civil manner.  Therefore, it would not be far off the mark if Draco were to somehow develop feelings for the inestimable Miss Granger.

_Well, Draco could certainly do worse_, he contemplated.

Miss Granger had, after her 6th Year, translated her brilliant mind into a confident demeanour and bright, quick eyes.  Where she used to offend all and sundry with her know-it-all attitude, she had transformed that need to let everyone know of her intelligence, into tutoring that bunch of Gryffindor 3rd Year dunderheads.  Then again, it _could_ be a reflection of her innate Gryffindor altruism to look after creatures less fortunate than herself.

In looks, she was no beauty queen material, typified by some of the breath-taking 7th Year beauties residing within Hogwarts' walls – awkward young girls who seem to have blossomed overnight into long-limbed, curvaceous, poised young ladies, with alluring girlish giggles and smiling secretive eyes.  She did not have the exotic Eastern dark looks of the Patil twins, with their shiny sleek jet-black hair, so long that they fell far below their waists, their dusky skin and large deep-set eyes.  She had not Miss Cortez's statuesque, lust-inducing figure so common among her Latin American countrywomen, or her large sparkling, playful eyes and cascading chestnut brown hair that fell in soft waves.  She could not compare to the willowy Miss Brown's (she of the mix-matched colour name) perky blonde-hair-and-blue-eyed cheerleader look, or the Hufflepuff's Miss Jones with her dark coffee-coloured skin, intriguing dark eyes and luscious lips, or her elfishly cropped hair and sensually languid movements.

No.  She was a plain-Jane-Bookworm in the shadows of some of her better-featured peers.  All she was missing was perhaps a thick pair of reading glasses.  And as he had discovered personally two nights ago, Miss Granger's height was a turn-off to half the boys her age, who had to literally look up to her – not a problem for his towering godson though, Draco was almost as tall as himself.  Her untameable strawberry-scented hair remained a riotous mass of brown curls that fell just below her shoulder, which she often wore in a severe bun like McGonagall or in French braids, to keep them out of the way whenever she brewed her potions or ate in the Great Hall.  Also, unlike many Hogwarts' girls past and present (and future, no doubt), Miss Granger chose to hide behind her frumpy student's robes and modest knee-length skirts, with nary a flattering alteration Charm in terms of length or cutting in either articles of clothing.  She still wore her garish Gryffindor tie buttoned to the top button like a Victorian prude; never askewed, and certainly never hanging from the second or third button like some of the students were wont to do.  Her figure, if his Dream somehow got it right, was well-proportioned, but her studious façade masked all her lovely qualities.

_But trust Draco to see that her overall package was far worthier than that of her better looking peers_, he mulled.  _That boy is certainly a Malfoy – and would be able to see a gem where others could not_.

Severus was sorely tempted to ask Draco more about his apparently intriguing conversation he had had with Miss Granger.  He would like to know if his conjecture on Draco's behalf was true.  It would certainly be in his position as mentor and godfather to watch out for the welfare of his godson; and he would render his services as best he could for Draco's happiness.  But he would have to be subtle – Draco would not appreciate it if Severus overstepped his boundaries in this matter.

But if truth were known, he had mixed feeling about the situation.  It would certainly be awkward hoping to reprise his Dream about a girl his godson was interested in.  

Draco, too, was considering Miss Granger, although not in the way his godfather thought he was.

When Hermione asked him to fly with her that afternoon, he saw it as a great opportunity to find out more about what caused his godfather's discomfort.  He knew that short of Voldemort disrupting his Potions class, there was little that could throw Severus off his firm grasp of his control.  And to witness Severus' outburst and very uncharacteristic issuing of Hermione's detention in class on Friday, was a window to a part of Severus he had yet seen.  Ironically, using the spying techniques his godfather had taught him, he had put his mentor under surveillance the past two days with amusing results.  Unknown to the older man, who would be mortified to know that the nuances of his gestures were so easily read by the young man before him, Draco had come to the conclusion that Hermione intrigued his erstwhile taciturn godfather.

It had not occurred to Severus that building a bond with young Draco meant that as much as Severus could read Draco's subtext in his words and gestures, Draco could also do likewise to his godfather; and was in fact better at reading Severus than the very perceptive Dumbledore.

Therefore, when Draco felt certain that something was afoot with regards to Hermione, he decided that for his godfather's sake, he would privately investigate the matter.  Draco loved his godfather dearly, for the man had in essence, saved his life.  Severus had helped him overcome his grief and guilt when he was left as an orphan, and had given him a new purpose in life, beyond expecting servitude to an evil Overlord, which was all he looked forward to while his father was alive.  In his time with Severus, he grew to understand his godfather better, and with understanding, love and respect for him grew.  Severus was a true Slytherin hero in Draco's eyes, and he modelled many of his boyish behaviour and thought processes on his godfather's.

However, their relationship was marred by that dark burden and loneliness that Severus wore like a heavy cloak.  Try as he might, Draco was never able to lift his godfather's melancholic spirit, which plagued him when he thought that no one was looking.  Also, some Sunday evening meals were taken under such a heavy atmosphere that Draco knew that Severus probably had endured such severe punishment during his Death Eater meeting the night before that he could hardly enjoy a simple meal with his godson.  In the light of his love for his godfather, Draco promised himself that he would move heaven and earth for him, who was more a father to him than his own, just to lift that dark cloud that hung about his unhappy godfather.

_If anyone deserve a modicum of happiness—,_ he thought.

Therefore, short of bring down Voldemort down himself, Draco looked for every opportunity to bring some amusement or joy to his godfather.

Thus, in the light of his godfather's apparent interest in Hermione, he sought to keep tabs on her to see if he could find any interesting thing to report to Severus.  Due to the Quidditch match yesterday, he was unable to find out what had transpired during the detention on Friday night, or her thoughts about it.  He needed to focus on the match, and after catching the Snitch that put his team 350-40 ahead of the other team, he was caught up in his House celebration of that overwhelming win.  The opportunity he was looking for to converse with Hermione only presented itself that afternoon out at the Quidditch pitch, when he chanced upon her at the school broom shed.

Then, what started out as his reconnaissance mission, took a surreal turn.

They had flown over to a secluded spot by the Lake, where Draco had asked her about the detention.  Hermione had related to Draco just how the detention went – nothing unusual (not that she had had many experiences with detention), just making a dreamless sleep potion for the Infirmary.  And then Hermione had asked him if he knew anyone who was taking Charms at S-paper level.

Hermione knew that Draco's subject combination was similar to hers, but he did not take S-papers for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.  In addition, Draco had deviated from Hermione's combination in that he had not taken Transfiguration, but Charms instead.  Therefore, she had quizzed him about students who were taking Charms at S-paper level.  Draco had told her that apart from himself, the other two taking the S-paper were Ravenclaw students Hermione was not familiar with.

"How fortuitous, indeed!" she had remarked with raised eyebrows and an impish grin, when Draco told her this.

"Indeed," he had replied, feeling somewhat wary of her intentions.

And then, the bombshell – she was working on a private project incorporating a multi-Magical Arts approach and would Draco be interested in helping her with the Charms aspects?  Intrigued, Draco had tentatively agreed to help her, as it provided more opportunities for him to get near her.

They made arrangements to meet in an unused Charm classroom on the 2nd floor the next evening after classes, where Hermione promised to fill him in on more details about what she needed him to do.  From the way Hermione briefly sketched her project, Draco was sure that her project had something to do with war.  However, it was also obvious that she was careful about giving away too many details about the work, as she did not fully trust him.

_Clever witch,_ he had thought.  He was impressed with her discretions, especially in the light of Voldemort's spies within Hogwarts – even Severus had said that he did not know who else could be spying within Hogwarts' hallowed halls, since they all use number codes to identify each other.

Draco's musings were broken into when Severus suddenly spoke up.

"So," he drawled, "how did the Slytherins celebrate the win yesterday?"

~*~

**A/N:** Thanks everyone for your reviews.  They were extremely helpful – I'm glad to see that a number of you felt that the army bit sounds about right.  Yeah, I figured that 3 years of quiet doesn't equate 3 years of Voldemort thumb-twiddling.  And Sabriel, the significance of no. 7 refers to James Bond's Agent number – apt for our super spy. *grins*  Severus may grow up in the wizarding world, but with his muggleborn cohort in the 70s, and with his students later, muggle pop culture in the muggleborns' conversations, books and songs will undoubtedly acquaint our Potions Professor with the idea of Ian Fleming's suave and debonair 007.

I've decided to buck the trend of Hermione not being comfortable on a broom.  After all, young Hermione was rather competent on her broomstick in the Chamber of the Flying Keys in Book 1.  She may not be a Quidditch fanatic, but I don't doubt that she'll indulge in recreational flying. Heh.

And special thanks to pigwidgeon37 and Tater Chip Girl for your help with a character!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

"Allow me to get this straight – you want us to create a magical map, a blue print, as it were, of a building, that can show the actual location of people we are interested in, in real time?" Draco Malfoy asked with a frown.  "Well, I've never heard of a magical artefact like that.  That's just impossible – it simply cannot be done!" he shook his head.

Hermione was not put off by Draco's protest.

"Remember 5th Year Arithmancy when Professor Vector taught us about Cartographical Calculus?"

Draco leaned back into his chair, looked off into the distance and raked the back of his right hand across his mouth before he answered her.  "Yes, but as I recall, what we did then was to create a detailed map of Hogsmeade, using data we've already collected."  He paused and turned towards Hermione, "Don't you remember the class having to fly over the town with those magical tape measures?  Don't you remember how, in order to measure the curvature of the High Street, MacDougal lost control of both his broom and tape measure and ended up in the Kissing Oak?  He was lip-locked to that tree until Professor Spout managed to persuade the Oak to release him with a bribe of Mooncalf dung," he grinned.

Hermione chuckled, "It certainly was a sight to remember."

"But I'm digressing.  I do remember Cartographical Calculus.  After we had completed our field practicum, with the data gathered of the distances between landmarks, we transferred the data onto a parchment using Crochet's Calculus.  It took a whole term to complete that assignment.  As you well know, you oh studious one," he teased, "the key to getting the map right is in the data collected."  He turned serious, "What you're asking us to do is beyond that – we'll need to add in some sort of Charm to allow the map to 'come alive' as it were, in order for it to locate people in it.  And what if the area we map out changes?  What then?  Won't we have to create another map?  What you're asking is impossible to create."

Hermione just gave Draco a patronising smile, which he did not particularly like.

"What if I tell you that not only is it _possible_ to create such a map, but that one such map exists of Hogwarts?" she folded her arms, raised her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair, mirroring Draco's posture.

It had all started with a simple question.  How on earth did Messers Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs come up with the Marauder's Map?  In Hermione's 3rd Year when the Map first made its appearance, that question did not even occur to her.  Like the various electrical appliances she had at home, she took it for granted that a magical item worked and hardly gave it a second thought to _how_ it worked.  She knew that Professor Lupin had helped write it, but she did not know of its particulars, nor at the time did she care about it.  Much later, when she was in her 5th Year studying Cartographical Calculus in Arithmancy, the Marauder's Map was brought to the top of her magical mind.  Obviously, some Arithmancy was involved in the creation of such a map.

That idea sparked a whole fortnight's worth of staking out in the library – time that should have been better spent preparing for her OWLs.  However, the idea, once taken root in her, nagged at her so much that she knew that she could not rest until the secret of the Map was revealed.  Arithmancy, of course, was one part of the puzzle.  But what other Magical Arts were involved?  She was attempting to do what four competent wizards were doing.  Powerful wizards even, for did not three of them achieve their Animagus state by their 5th Year?  Without proper supervision, even!

As far as she could figure the Marauder's Map out on her own, Arithmancy was needed to create the blueprint of Hogwarts.  But thekey question was how did the Marauders get such accurate data to create the blueprint in the first place?  Draco was right – the Crochet's Calculus only worked when the data used was accurate.  But how was it Charmed that when the areas depicted by the map changed in real life, the Marauder's Map changed as well?

She had sent many owls to Professor Lupin about the creation of the Marauder's Map, but to no avail.  All her letters were sent back by confused, apologetic owls, leaving her to suspect that Lupin was working as an Unspeakable or under a shielding Charm, rendering him uncontactable.  She had thought to approach Harry to send a note to Sirius regarding the map, but the information that she received was merely a Potions recipe for the ink used in the Map and a note telling her that it was an obscure Charm Harry's father, James, had used which animated the map at the final stage.  Unfortunately, without the Arithmantic code and the Charm to tie them all together, the ink was virtually useless.  Sadly, after the two unfruitful weeks in the library, she had to abandon the project in the light of the OWLs.  Once the OWLs were over, she considered the wisdom of continuing the project, and since there was neither need nor resource, she had allowed the project to fallow, just as she had done for SPEW.

It was another one of her many ongoing projects that she had listed in her "Keep In View" notebook.  She knew that although she had not succeeded in some of her ideas, there will come a time when circumstances would be in place for some of her abandoned projects to follow through.  Meanwhile, she would focus her time on other projects needing her attention.

So what had changed to cause her to pick up this project again?  The short of it was that in the two years since she'd last written to Professor Lupin, he had somehow come out of hiding once again, and since the start of 7th Year, was reinstated to his former teaching position as the DADA Professor.  Although there were some parental objections regarding a werewolf teaching the children, with the recent Mediwizardry patent taken out for a werewolf cure, the objections were muted.  The word "cure" was actually an inaccurate description of the potion.  The potion did not "cure" werewolves in the sense that they would not have to undergo that involuntary change, but once taken, the potion allowed werewolves to retain their human mind every time they transformed under the Luna influence and behave somewhat like what Animagi would do in their animal forms.

In addition to the werewolf cure, the position of DADA Professor had to be replaced yet again, but this time for a reason not of Voldemort's doing.  Professor McKenzie-Wu, DADA Professor since Hermione's 5th Year, was to join her husband, who was headhunted for the position of Headmaster of the Hong Kong Academy of Magical Arts.  Leo Wu had felt the need to return to his alma mater, especially in the present uncertain political climate of the British handover of the territories to China.  Professor McKenzie-Wu had not seen her husband for a year, as he had left earlier to deal with the unenviable task of dealing with the school's dwindling enrolment, because of the school's students and staff migrating for more stable political climates in the UK, Canada or Australia.  Since the Chinese clampdown on Magical Institutions during the Cultural Revolution in China, many Hong Kong wizarding families were unsure of how the Communist government would deal with HKAMA once the Handover took place.  The One Country**_-_**Two Systems policy mooted by China was well and good, but until the transition was underway, some families would rather leave the area until stability returned to the area.  Fortunately, the wizarding community in China was still thriving, albeit in greater hiding, and Leo was able to link up with the other schools of Magic in China to staff HKAMA.  The latest report about the HKAMA in the _Daily Prophet_ had depicted the situation in Hong Kong as stable, and Hermione had felt a sense of relief for the petite but very strict DADA Professor, who was also the teacher in charge of the mandatory Wizard Duel classes.

Despite Professor McKenzie-Wu's excellent teaching, Harry was especially glad for Professor Lupin's return, as Remus Lupin was one of his father's best friends, and whom Harry automatically viewed as a family member.  With Lupin's return, Hermione was able to pick his brains for the Arithmantic code, which he wrote almost 20 years ago for the Marauder's Map.  Hermione was not able to get the exact formula, but it was a greater progress than what she had had.  The Code enabled the Charm to fused the ink and Code, but Lupin was not able to enlighten her further about the Charm James had used.

There was another problem she had not foreseen about creating the Map was the use of Ancient Runes, a speciality of Peter Pettigrew, which Lupin pointed out to her.  "I'm not sure what Wormtail did, but after the three of us did our parts, Wormtail was able to stabilise the Map using a Runic code.  I'm sorry I'm not able to tell you more about it," he had told her.  Despite that new set of problems, Hermione decided to tackle what she could first – Charms.

"I don't believe you," the young man sitting before her shook his head.  "If there is such a Map, where is it now?" he asked in disbelief.  His eyes suddenly widened, "Don't tell me that Potter has it in his possession?"

At his stunned look, Hermione gave an uncharacteristic smirk.  "Fred and George Weasley were in possession of the Map—"

"They'd never be able to afford a Map like that!" he interrupted.

Hermione huffed in irritation.  "They _found_ the Map," she clarified.  No, she would not tell Draco just how they "found" it in Filch's office.  "Apparently, the Map was created by four _Gryffindors_—" Draco tactfully kept his lips sealed with Hermione's a pointed look "—whilst they were studying in Hogwarts in the '70s.  Fred and George gave the map to Harry in our 3rd Year—"

"Figures!" he interrupted with a snort, "Prince of Gryffindor would inherit such a magical artefact.  With all your sneaking around after curfew, that map would be quite useful… I'm assuming, of course, that the Map shows the real time location of Filch and Mrs. Norris quite clearly?"

"Yes, yes.  _Anyway_, " she replied with a roll of her eyes, "the Map was taken away by Moody in our 4th Year.  We don't know where it is now."

Draco was silent for a while, digesting the information.

"What does the Map look like?" he asked.

"Just like a normal old parchment," she shrugged.  "It's blank, until a verbal code is given to activate it and another verbal code is used to deactivate it.  The codes are a security measure to make sure that the Map doesn't get used when in the wrong hand."

"Are there any ways to contact the original makers of the Map?" he questioned.

"Well, I've talked to Professor Lupin—"

"Professor Lupin?  He had a hand in creating the Map?"

Hermione couldn't decide if Draco's intrusion was a sign of admiration or an affront to the often shabbily dressed Professor.   All the same she gave him a warning look.  "Yes… yes, he did.  He wrote the Arithmantic code, and based it on Crochet's Calculus, so that it was able to transfer the data far more logically, or at least was able to combine itself better with Charms – _you_ know how difficult it is to write codes that combine well with the other Magical Arts, remember the Tranfigurative Codes we had to learn last year in Arithmancy?  Anyway, I did a check in the library's archives and found out that of the four, he was the only one to study Arithmancy at S-paper level."

Draco was impressed.  He knew Hermione was thorough when she got involved with research; but to go to such lengths checking up the very haphazard Hogwarts Archive was no laughing matter.  It must have taken her weeks just to ferret the information about Lupin's academic career merely to get some direction to the creation of such a fantastical magical artefact is just…just pure Hermione.

"From the records and my discussions with Professor Lupin, each of the other three wizards specialised in a different Magical Art, and that combination of their specialities was how they came up with the Map," she continued her lecture.

"And who were the other three wizards?"

"Well, that's unimportant," she fudged, "but their specialities were Charms, Potions, and Ancient Runes."

Draco silently ruminated on her statement.

"Well, if you say you've seen this Map—" he considered.

Hermione nodded her head.

"I suppose there is a possibility then for us to recreate it," he sighed.

Hermione flashed a brilliant grin.  "Oh I could kiss you Draco!" she exclaimed, "but I won't," she wrinkled her nose in jest.

Draco merely shook his head and rolled his eyes at her antics; "So, where do we start?"

Hermione brought out a thick stack of parchments and pushed it across the table towards the amused boy.  "Here's some ideas I had about the direction we should take—"

~*~

Hermione had had a long day.  As she leaned into her fluffy pillows, she replayed the scene in the unused Charms classroom over in her mind.

When they met in the classroom, she had Draco sign an Official Secrets contract that was as magically binding as their Memorandum of Understanding in their 6th Year.

_I suppose I should thank Draco for that inspiration_, she thought impishly.

By signing the parchment, Draco had to keep all the details of their project strictly between the two of them.  He was not able to breathe a word about what they did together, and only the administration of _Veritaserum_ would allow Draco to confess the workings of their project.  Fortunately, _Veritaserum_ was hard to come by, and it was no use for Draco to try asking for it in order to tell another soul about the project he was working on – he was magically bound not to ask for _Veritaserum,_ since in asking for it meant that he had intentions to reveal the secrets about the project to another.

_A fantastic Catch-22 situation if ever there was one_, Hermione grinned.

Of course, she needed to make sure that Draco was not working for Voldemort.  Hermione knew that Draco had reformed, especially since he was the one who had orchestrated the magical contract between the two of them the year before, and allowed her to take credit for it.  She had always suspected that the whole 'civil interaction' act he put on was merely to satisfy the Death Eater supporters that were in the school, but she had never discussed his role with him before.  It did not take a rocket scientist to know that Draco, being a Malfoy and Slytherin, ward and godson to the Slytherin Head of House, was somehow still involved in the upper echelons of Slytherin politics, and therefore had to provide a plausible excuse for his less than desultory behaviour towards Mudblood Granger.  She did not know what the Slytherins thought about Draco's 6th Year behaviour behind her back – the magical contract allowed Draco free expression as long as she wasn't in his presence, but she knew that the Slytherin would have used that loophole to his advantage.

Her suspicions about Draco's role in the war was proved true that evening, when Draco signed the parchment with little persuasion.

Truth be told, Hermione wasn't a hundred percent sure that Draco wasn't working for Voldemort until his signature was on the dotted line.  After all, she had heard from Harry that the Order knew that there were a number of spies amongst the students at Hogwarts, but they had difficulty identifying who they were.  She would never compromise her project, but she felt that she needed to take the risk of having a Charms expert on board the Map project.

_And who better than the egoistical Prince Charming himself?_ She snorted.  _Charms expert, indeed._

Oh, she had heard all about the Draco Malfoy Fan Club, created by a group of girls in the year before, and managed by Dee Chiraz, a pretty 5th Year Hufflepuff.  The club, made up of students from all four Houses, would obsess about All Things Draco.  Members were highly encouraged to vote for the blonde boy in the fortnightly '_Top Ten Heartthrobs of Hogwarts'_, a magical parchment that was tacked in the girls' bathroom in all the Houses, the brainchild of Lavender, Parvati and Padma.  The last she checked, Harry's fans still outvoted the second place Draco, giving her best friend the lead since school started.  Ron was a close third, followed by the 6th Year Hufflepuff Chaser, Brandon Branstone and another 6th Year boy she couldn't remember the name of.

It was an amusing distraction that Lavender and the Patil twins thought up in their 6th Year after a particularly interesting Charms class they had with Professor Flitwick.  The girls had wanted to lighten the often tense mood in the castle, especially after the dark rumours of Voldemort's return at the end of their 4th Year.  _What was more fun_, they thought, _than boy-watching?_  Taking their cue from the Harry Potter Fan Club and the then just beginning Draco Malfoy Fan Club, they created the Charmed parchments, which allowed the castle's witches to vote their favourites with an _'enumerati'_ with their wand.  The 4th Year girls and up, were only allowed one vote each, and many of the girls belonged to more than one fan club.

Naturally, the girls, Hermione included, never told any of the boys about the TTHH – it was their sisterly secret, a means of amusement… not to swell the heads of the egoistical prats.  Who knew how Ron would react if he found out that Draco's fans had outvoted him by a mere 6 votes?

The whole thing was all a silly diversion, Hermione knew, and was just the thing to engage the castle's teenage inmates' excessive youthful energy.  As long as the girls did not bother her to join their various fan clubs, she did not mind the various TTHH discussions held in the castle's female domains.

She knew that not every one coped with the impending war by burying themselves in research like she did.  Ron spent an inordinate amount of time in the Quidditch pitch, working off his tension and worry for Harry.  Harry threw himself into his Head Boy duties, and could be seen daily in his Head Boy quarters, counselling and encouraging the younger boys who approached him with their troubles.

Harry.

She wished that she had that time-turner in her 3rd Year again.  She had barely enough time to complete her homework and do the research for the Map, much less spend time with the bespectacled Boy Who Lived.

Just then, Crookshanks leapt neatly into her bed to settle in for the night, cutting her off her rumination.  Hermione tickled the half-Kneazle under his chin, murmuring nonsense to her bed companion.  After a few minutes of mothering her cat, she settled more comfortably in her bed, and turned to tuck her hands under her pillow, allowing her mind free reign to wander again.

She managed to meet up with Harry last night in the Common room though.  Harry said that since Blaise had alternate Sunday evening meetings with Professor McGonagall, and had business at near the Gryffindor Tower, he had accompanied her along the way.  Whatever the excuse, Hermione was glad for that half an hour alone with her friend, before Ron showed up and engaged Harry with Wizard's Chess.  During that half hour with Harry, she had confided her worries about the sensibility of working with Draco on her Map project.  Harry had only shaken his head and teased her stubbornness in essentially carrying out a project that started in her 5th Year.  However, Harry had reassured her that Draco was unlikely to be a junior Death Eater.  He was Snape's ward, after all, and Snape himself was Dumbledore's right-hand man in Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix.  During one of Harry's sessions with the Headmaster, Dumbledore had instructed Harry that if anything were to befall the wizen wizard, Snape would take over the operations of the entire Order, a heavy burden indeed.

That bit of information had surprised Hermione greatly.

It was very hard to reconcile the image of the petty, ill-tempered, and caustic man as the protector of the British wizarding population.

She suddenly remembered the movie she had watched with her parents during her summer holidays just before coming back to Hogwarts for her 7th Year.  In her mind's eye, she saw the image of a dark and brooding Bruce Wayne in his underground bat cave, in his black cape and mask – the protector of the population of Gotham City.  Stifling a silly giggle, that image melded with that of the original dark and brooding man, standing in front of his desk in Hogwarts' underground dungeons, cloaked in his billowing teaching robe – the protector of unsuspecting witches and wizards in the UK.

_I'll never see Batman in the same light again_, she stifled another burst of giggles.  _Snape was no George Clooney, that's for sure._

Hermione heaved a weary sigh and shook her head.  It was getting late, and her musings had begun to take on a surreal quality.

"Goodnight, Crooks," she whispered to her cat and closed her eyes.

~*~

**A/N:** I'm sorry this chapter took so long.  The second half of the chapter was rewritten many times.  I actually wrote the entire POA events from the Shrieking Shack to Pettigrew's escape from Hermione's pov, but felt that it should not fit in here.  It just didn't feel right, and it just didn't flow.

The whole Top Ten Heartthrobs of Hogwarts was inspired by the voting mania going on at WIKTT in the quest to allow Sexy Severus Snape to beat Luscious Lucius Malfoy in a popularity poll.  Naturally, I voted for Severus. *sigh*

_Batman and Robin_(June 1997) was the movie Hermione watched with her parents during the summer holidays before the start of her 7th Year.  She's not thinking properly – it's late and her mind's _really_ wandering…*grins*  And, Gethsemane, thanks for pointing out that Batman hails from Gotham City, not from Metropolis – my major boo-boo. *blushes* 

Anyhoo… thanks for sticking around with this.  I love all your reviews and there *will* be a SS/HG interaction in the next chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

~*~

"Hermione?" 

"Hmm?" she answered hazily, chewing on her quill, eyes still focused on her Potions S-paper assignment that she was given that afternoon.

Hermione's S-paper class had finally completed the syllabus on Transfiguring Potions the week before, having successfully brewed the Transfiguring Potion in September, and examined the impact of the potion on wizarding history, as well as the ethics of its use in the subsequent weeks.  Beginning that afternoon, Professor Snape had begun, what was for her, a most fascinating new study: 'The Healing Arts – Potion in Mediwizardry Across Cultures'.  The Professor had his five students each analyse a different wizarding culture's use of potions in the Healing Arts for pain-relief, fever-reduction, and nausea.  They were to compare the active magical ingredients used in remedies for these three basic symptoms to the ingredients used for the common headache, fever and nausea potion they had made in their 5th Year.  Following that, each student would have to brew a Mediwizardry potion of their choice using the magical methods of the culture they examined.  Hermione had already decided to brew the Sight-Cure potion created by that famous Chinese wizard _Hua Tuo_.  The recipe looked simple enough, but the hardest part of preparing that potion was that the brewer needed to remain in front of the clay pot watching the brewing for exactly 24 hours, adding each ingredient at precisely 15 minutes intervals.  The brewing would be extremely exhausting, but Hermione felt that it would be worth doing if she could offer it to Harry to cure his myopia.

"Hey, Hermione," Parvati's lilting voice broke through her blurriness.

"Huh?" Hermione shook her head to clear it of scorpions, centipedes, cicada—'_Are these ingredients for real?_' she vaguely wondered—swallow's nest and other Chinese potions ingredients. 

"Hermione," Lavender repeated impatiently, and Hermione finally turned her blinking brown eyes on the willowy blonde sitting on the chair next to hers in the girls' dormitory.

"Woman, I swear if a herd of hippogriffs stampede through here, you'll still be reading that book!" exclaimed Parvati, pointing at the offending tome empathically.

"What do you want now?" sighed Hermione in exasperation at the interruption as she fiddled with her quill.  It was better to get to the point with her roommates if she ever wanted to return to her studies within this century.

"Well," smiled Lavender, "Some of the 7th Year girls from the other houses are organising a sleep over tonight—"

"—to celebrate Susan's birthday," explained Parvati.

"And since it's an open invitation to the 7th Year girls—"

"—we thought you might like to join us."

The pair looked intently at Hermione to gauge her response.  Although Hermione were not as close to the two girls before her as they were to each other, the three of them had roomed together the past 6 years, and their relationship showed it.

"But I still have a ton of work to do!" wailed the brunette, pointing her quill at the almost completed essay, which was not due until the end of October.

"Riiiight," drawled Parvati, folding her arms across her chest and nodding.

"Sure," Lavender rolled her eyes.  "That essay you're working on – when is it due again?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"Woman, all work and no play makes Jill a dull girl," smirked Parvati, "and Hermione, it's not like we're asking you to join our Hogwarts' Heartthrobs committee.  Although," she glanced at Lavender, sharing a secret smile, "if you ask me, you should, seeing how you've got all our top three Heartthrobs tied around your little finger."

Hermione snorted.  "You can't be serious, Parvati!" she contorted her face in disbelief, "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Lavender spoke up, "Oh, you know – Harry, our number one Heartthrob and Ron, who's at number three, they're your best friends, right?  Although I must say that Harry seems to have a thing for raven-haired witches.  I thought he'll never get over Cho, but since she graduated—" she shrugged, "But we're talking about you.  Or more particularly, you and our Hogwarts number two man, the cool Prince Charming himself.  Is there something going on between the two of you we should know?"

Hermione frowned and shook her head, "I have no idea what on earth you are a talking about Lav.  What's this about Harry and a black-haired witch?  And who on earth is this 'Prince Charming' you're talking about?"

Parvati and Lavender shared an incredulous look between them.

"Hermione Granger!" Parvati addressed the seated bookworm, "that's it.  You're coming with us tonight even if we have to drag you with us!"

"That's right, girl," agreed Lavender, "you've got a lot of catching up to do." She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and huffed, "Not knowing who Prince Charming is, indeed!"

Hermione surveyed her notes scattered on the study table.

_'Perhaps it might be a good idea to take a break from all the work I've been doing on the map and homework.  Besides, it's only for tonight, and it is Susan's birthday,' _she pursed her lips._  'And it would be good to catch up with the latest school news – I've seen so little of Harry as it is that it would be nice to hear about that witch he apparently fancies,' _she mused, _'Although I'm sure most of them would want to know what Ron has been up to lately.'_

Hermione looked up at the two determined faces before her.  "All right," she said, as she rolled her eyes and threw the quill down on the table, "I surrender!  So, what's the plan for tonight?"

~*~

Hermione cracked open a blurry eye and felt a little panicky.  She had a strange feeling that she wasn't on her own bed in her dorm.  It was almost pitch black and her senses were alert to the strange room and bed she found herself in.  Where was she?

_'Oh that's right—'_ she sighed in relief, closing her eye and leaning back into her pillow, _'—Susan's sleepover.'_

After dinner, Lavender, Parvati and Hermione had put on their best nightclothes under their robes, and the trio had traipsed across the castle to the Head Girl's quarters, where Blaise's bedroom could magically accommodate half the 7th Year girls easily.  Also, having the sleepover at the Head Girl's quarters made perfect sense since the room was a neutral sleeping quarters, unlike the dormitories of the four Houses.  Girls from opposing Houses were not allowed into the common rooms which led to the dorms.

Moreover, the Bones and the Zabinis were close family friends, so Susan and Blaise practically grew up together, and Blaise herself volunteered to host the sleepover at her quarters.  Besides, it was a good opportunity to foster inter-House relationship, and the Slytherin Head Girl was always quick to initiate more opportunities of the kind.

The evening was passed in a riotous cackling as the girls discussed boys, fashion, boys, school gossips, boys, Hogwarts staff, and boys.  Amidst anecdotes of the girls' various encounters with either their suave or bumbling male peers, the girls helped themselves to the snacks and drinks brought in by House Elves, luxuriating on the magically elongated bed which was large enough to accommodate the twelve of them.

Hermione had felt a little out of place at first, when the conversations turned to what she felt were frivolous topics in the light of the war, but she allowed the other girls to rant and chatter, whilst she listened to the ebb and flow of where the conversations led.  She contributed as much as she could when the other girls started pumping her for information about Ron – she had expected that, after all.  Her tall, redheaded best friend had gained quite a following with his friendly and casual manner and easy grin.  However, to her great amusement, the girls started asking her about Draco as well.  Apparently, her rendezvous with Draco on Monday evening was seen by a Ravenclaw 5th Year who had passed the Charms classroom on her way to Professor Flitwick's office, just when she entered the room with Draco.  She was spotted again the previous evening by a 6th Year Slytherin prefect on patrol duty, who saw Hermione and Draco coming out of that classroom together rather close to curfew.

Although Hermione denied that there was anything going on between Draco and herself, she did not protest too vehemently.  She knew that she would have to be in Draco's company even more in future if her secret project with him were to progress, and then even more eyes would be directed upon the two of them if the girls thought that she was hiding something as delicious as a secret rendezvous with the Slytherin Prince.  _'Let the girls think what they want,'_ she'd thought, _'if it means that they'll leave us in peace to work on the Map.'_

The twelve had talked late into the night, but since the next day was a Saturday; they had paid no heed to the time.  Hermione had fallen asleep on the outer right side of the bed, facing the fireplace, and she had awoken partially due to someone's hands poking her back.

She scooted a bit nearer the edge of the bed towards the glowing embers of the fireplace, but instead of distancing herself from the other person, she felt a large hand pulling her snugly into the warmth of a large body at her back.

"Where do you think you're going, hmm?" a low sleepy growl tickled her across her left ear, sending her senses reeling in a hundred different directions.

~*~

Severus Snape was not a happy man.

Not that he would normally walk around the castle with any semblance to any joviality of any kind, but the past week brought the already mercurial mood of the Potions Professor to a new low.

If asked for a reason for the cause for this additional layer of irascible fractiousness, Severus would be hard pressed to identify exactly what it was that caused this behaviour.

He _could_ lay the blame on the simple matter of teaching dunderheads who had no interest in the subtle science and exact art of potion-making, who would hardly believe that the elemental magic wrought when brewing potions is a superior kin to that of foolish wand-waving.  Those pathetic dunderheads had no understanding of the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses; neither would they appreciate the raw power of bottling fame, brewing glory – even stoppering death!

No, instead they come to class without preparation of any kind – choosing to bicker and fight with their opposing housemates; playing dangerous pranks by slipping potentially dangerous ingredients into each other's cauldrons, hoping to foul up the other's potions.  He had enough of playing mediator, nursemaid, watchman and unappreciated instructor!  And it didn't help matters one whit that the siege-mentality at the castle was playing havoc with the children's fears and nerves, and they took it out in petty altercations, the likes of which made Potter and Malfoy's past bickering seemed like a simple disagreement.

He _could_ blame his unusually black mood on the usual stress that a double agent faced, playing a deadly game of lies.  After all, he had to face the uncertain reaction of Voldemort tomorrow night, when he reported on the progress of the night-vision potion he was assigned to enhance.  In truth, it was a simple matter to tweak the potion to work more effectively.  However, the crux was to create two potions that started off with the same enhanced night-vision, but to allow one of them to wear off at a faster rate than the other.  It was the right strategy, after all, to allow advantage to the Order with the potion that lasted longer than the one he would offer to Voldemort.

He could even blame his dismal mood on the simple physiological problem of not having enough sleep.  At least that would explain the darker than usual eye bags under his eyes, and the added tinge of sallow in his skin from overdosing on Stay Awake potions.  His already disrupted sleep from all his nightmares had a new aspect – a fear and longing for a particular Dream, a particular release from the usual burdening, incriminating, horrifying nightmare that left him trembling in fear and hatred at himself when he awoke.  A fear?  Yes – he would sleep in hope that he might meet his dream wraith, but each night, instead of waking up to the dream-Hermione, he would find himself in the company of a screaming banshee, who taunt him, and scream the screams of the children at the muggle orphanage, with her hair streaking behind her.  The dreamscape would then tilt and take the form of Voldemort's lair where he would face endless _crucio_ from the masked Death Eaters who had discovered his traitorous stance in the war.

He supposed he could have employed the use of the dreamless sleep potion, but he did not want to become dependent on the potion unless he really had to – it went against the control he needed over himself even in something as mundane and as involuntary as dreaming.  But if he were honest with himself, his over-reliance on the Stay Awake was just as bad as being dependent on the dreamless sleep.

_'Pure hypocrisy!'_ he thought in chagrin.  Now, however, it seemed likely that he now had to rely on the potion to get a good night's rest, otherwise he might just make too great a mistake in his role in the war.

The truth then.  Well, the truth was that he wanted to meet his Queen Midas once again – if even only in a fantasy.  He had felt his core revived, refreshed, revitalised, with that compassion shown to him a week ago.  It had felt so good to be held voluntarily – he had never… he had never been held so lovingly by anyone, except perhaps for that one night in Dumbledore's office when he had confessed it all – the screams, the loneliness, the pain, the bleakness; tears messily pouring out of his eyes, sobbing, really, in that overstuffed chair in front of the Headmaster's desk.  Dumbledore's gentle, comforting hands soothing his back as if he were a lost son who found his way home, was the first and last time he had experienced a loving touch.

Severus shook his head to clear it from his dark musings.  It would not do to get all maudlin again.  Too much was at stake.  Draco had just left his quarters, and the youth's worries for him was evident, although the boy had made the excuse of Slytherin housekeeping matters of visiting him unannounced.

'Draco,' he sighed.  'And if Draco was worried about me…'

Draco was one of the few graces he had in his life.  At Draco's Naming Ceremony, where Severus was named godfather, he had felt a tinge of borrowed pride.  Even though he knew that his position as godfather was a strategic alliance on Lucius' part, he had looked down on that sleeping month-old babe he carried in his arms, and had promised himself that he would do all in his power to keep the boy from the dark – even if he had to defy the child's parents.  Thus from the instant his godson stepped into Hogwarts, away from the influence of his father, Severus had looked out for the boy as if he were his own.  

It was ironic, he thought, that such an innocent baby boy could be the son of darkness, yet be the child of 'light'.  For was not 'Lucius' a derivative of the word light?

Getting up from his winged-back chair in front of the fireplace, Severus prepared for bed.  He walked into his potions cabinet and took out a vial of the orange-tinged dreamless sleep from the shelf holding a fortnight's supply of the potion.  This was a new batch he brewed on Monday evening for his own personal use.  Hefting the vial in his hand, he turned towards his bedroom to change into his sleepwear.

And that was another thing affecting his moods of late.  Ever since Sunday's dinner with the boy, where he began suspecting Draco's attraction for Miss Granger, he had been on a lookout for the inevitable interactions between the two students.  He had observed them closely and their interaction during Monday's potion class was unremarkable, but the two of them do share many classes together.  During Wednesday's class, however, Draco seemed more distracted – and if he were not intent on observing his godson's behaviour around Miss Granger, he would have missed it altogether.  Draco's distraction carried over to even the S-level class that afternoon; but he could not be sure if the distraction was caused by Miss Granger or Draco's worries about himself.

On the other hand, if the school grapevine were to be believed, some understanding might have occurred between Draco and Miss Granger on Monday night.  Granted, tapping into the schoolgirls' loud gossiping of "Prince Charming" (he snorted derisively at the uncreative pun on the boy's talent in Charms) was low level spying, he knew that often there was no smoke without fire, and the gossiping grapevine usually carried more truth than fiction.

Severus pursed his lips in thought and heaved another sigh.  Stretching out on the large, cold bed, Severus stared up at the heavy, dark velvet canopy.

_'If Draco only knew about…'_ he couldn't finish his thought.  It was too personal, and too pathetic.

Cradling his head in the crook of his arm, Severus turned towards the bedside table holding the dreamless sleep potion.  He pondered what had occurred with Miss Granger to cause Draco's distraction – he did not behave as if his meeting with Miss Granger was successful though.  _Intriguing_.

Perhaps there was another reason for his distraction.  Flitwick's rather off-handed comment at the Head Table during dinner last evening that Draco had approached him for extra Charms sessions might be the direction to take.  Coupled with his worries about him… _possible_.  This would be a possible explanation for his distraction.

But if Draco's distractions were due to Miss Granger's lack of interest—

Letting out a frustrated growl, he picked up the potion, brought it to his lips and took a long draught.  He rested his head on the pillow and waited for sleep to come.

~*~

TBC.

**A/N:**

If you're interest in herb sources in Traditional Chinese Medicine (yes, scorpions are a herb source *grins*), this site is one of the best English sites around (leave no spaces inbetween):

http: //www. euyansang. com.sg/ sg/content/en_US/c_med_herbs/ herbs_types/ general_herbs_index. php

There's even a page with recipes for more mundane herbal ingredients.

_Hua Tuo_ was a real person in China's Han dynasty.  He was such a good Healer, many believed that he was dubbed "miracle working doctor" or _shen yi_.  In fact he was described as "still appeared in the prime of his life when he was almost 100".  He was put to death at 97 years old by _Cao Cao_, the ruler of the state of Wei, when he had a disagreement with him.  More about him here:

http: //www. itmonline. org/ arts/ huatuo. htm

A letter to my readers…

Hello!

Chapter 11 was in my computer for a looong time.  The main reason was that the past couple of weeks have been totally hectic with my assignments to complete.  Also, this chapter hasn't been proofread by my hubby, even though it sat on his desk for the past week!  I'm posting it now anyway and all mistakes and flames will be re-directed to him. heh.

I was very undecided if I wanted to continue the story because of OotP.  I haven't read it yet, and will only do so when my husband's teenage student lends it to me this Sunday.  I just hope he remembers to bring it to class.  *grins*  Although I haven't read OotP yet, I've been thoroughly spoiled about what will happen and have been contributing to various discussion boards regarding the book.  heh.

This is my main grouse for writing fanfics for uncompleted series.  When I tried writing Gilmore Girls Lorelai-Christopher fics, I had to finally abandon them unpublished because of what happened in the new seasons.  Likewise my unpublished X-Files fics.  Ah, well… there's always Darcy-fics, I suppose.

I went through thinking about whether to continue "Dream" because the HP universe I have created has become very very alternate, and I would prefer to reinvest time in a new fic that tackles some new issues and characters from book 5.  On the other hand, as a reader, I hope that some of my favourite WIP don't stop because of certain events and perspectives in book 5, but would continue as usual.  See, I totally understand the dilemma from both the reader and writer perspective.

So, for those of you, who like me, need to read a story to its final conclusion, I have decided I will continue with "Dream".  I'm also doing this because I haven't got to the scene that my plot bunny's making me go stir crazy about.   That said, I don't think I can update Dreams as fast as I would like, because of real life – I've recently got a job, in addition to completing a major research paper for my part-time uni course. 

Campy Capybara


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

Reminder: OotP never happened. Heh.

~*~

"Where do you think you're going, hmm?" a low sleepy growl tickled her across her left ear, sending her senses reeling in a hundred different directions.

Hermione tensed up.  Was it going to be that dream she had of Professor Snape again?  Her mind raced, but his delicious warmth, filtering through her thin nightdress was highly distracting.  She found great difficulty forming words, much less articulating sentences.  She was engulfed by him – her back firmly pressed against his front, his left arm holding her close to him, and his hand was just under her right breast, his thumb, stroke, stroke, stroking, maddeningly slowly stoking the soft satin material of her nightgown.

He murmured again, "My sweet dream nymph, you delight in torturing me.  Where have you been these past nights?  Don't you know how I have longed for you?"

_Longed for me?_ her eyes widened, as she thought incredulously.  _That doesn't sound like what Snape would say,_ she frowned.  _Well of course not, Hermione, honestly!_ she admonished herself, rolling her eyes, _it's only in your dream – as if Professor Snape would _really_ long for you!_  The idea that Snape – stern, surly, and taciturn Snape would even utter such sweet nothings sent Hermione into a giggling fit.

"My heart?  My love?  My adorable one, are you quite all right?" the man sounded confused.  His question sent Hermione into a fresh fit of giggles.

Hermione struggled to contain her giggling fit, and she sat up and leaned against the headboard, gasping for air.  "I'm sorry," she turned to her bedfellow in the dark, "but I just can't seem to stop."

~*~

Severus' expectation of the dreamless sleep potion working its magic was all for naught.  He could feel that that vague sensation of waking, but not into his bed or his room.  The sensation catalysed into an alternate reality – a reality where a distinct other being hindered his limbs from stretching, where this being was lying beside him on a warm, comfortable bed.

For a moment, the perfectionist Potions brewer in him cursed that something must have gone wrong with his dreamless sleep potion: this was not the result the potion was suppose to bring – after all, Hermione's dreamless sleep allowed him dreamlessness until he awoke, refreshed.

Cracking an eye, he adjusted his night vision in the dark room, and immediately saw his bed partner scooting away from him, towards the dying embers of the fireplace.

It was his longed-for dream!  Finally, his dream had recurred, and he was not about to let his dream nymph move away from him whilst he could still seek comfort in her presence.

Pulling her back into his embrace, he murmured, "Where do you think you're going?" – only to have her on edge.  He began to doubt the wisdom of his impulsive act when the woman in his arms remained silent.  Thinking to break the tension, he cajoled her; "My sweet dream nymph, you delight in torturing me.  Where have you been these past nights?  Don't you know I have longed for you?"

A moment of silence, and then a most confounding thing happened – the woman began shaking.  Afraid that he had just upset her, he tried comforting her by murmuring nonsense words to her, when the sudden burst of giggles broke through the darkness, and the woman sat up, apologising for her unstoppable giggles.

Was she laughing at him?  Familiar bitterness at being made fun of struggled with his amusement at the incongruous female's behaviour in their very private and intimate setting.  Amusement won out – her lilting giggles were infectious, and her swift apology assured him that she meant no malice in her struggle to gain equanimity.

Now more amused than offended by the charming sound, he noted, self-depreciatingly, "It doesn't do much for a man's self-esteem for his dream nymph to laugh at him, you know."

"Oh no!" she replied brightly, once she had her giggling under some control, "It's just—" she took a deep breath to smother the last of the giggles, "—it's just that," she hesitated, "who are you, really?"

_Who are you, really?_  The question struck Severus forcefully.

"Who am I, indeed," he repeated almost inaudibly to himself

What was it about this witch?  More and more he felt that she was his subconscious made manifest.  The emotional rollercoaster she put him through – one moment in great joy and comfort, the next, burgeoning bitterness mixed with amusement, and yet the next, fear – and all with vaguely innocent questions that required him to engage in honest self-reflection – self-reflection that he dared not indulge in for fear of finding out that he really was as ugly as he thought he was, as unredemptive even with all the efforts he put into his work against Voldemort in order to erase his past indiscretions.

He sighed, and moved up to sit beside the woman, staring out into the dark.

Such a simple question, really.  But he did not know the answer.  Once, he would have had no hesitation in answering that he was Severus Snape, but really, who was Severus Snape, truly?  The Death Eaters who trusted him were the people he was betraying; the people whom he was spying for treated him with mistrust.  Neither party knew the real Severus.  Was Severus Snape the traitor or the loyal spy?

Perhaps that answer was too emotional.  Traitor or Loyal?  Why not focus instead on something lacking those kinds of value judgement?  

Well, he could say that he was _Professor_ Severus Snape – associating himself with his professional identity – except, the students he toiled for, watched over, mentored; they all hated him with a passion.  He understood full well when he began teaching that he needed to dissimulate his true self in order to keep up his pro-Death Eater persona, and later he had learnt to maintain that evil bastard façade when he realised that the teaching persona he had unwittingly created allowed him a level of classroom management and discipline that kept the students alert, focused and in line, in the sometimes highly dangerous Art of Potion-making.  For unlike Transfigurations or Charms, where mistakes can be swept away with a quick and simple _"Finite Incantatem"_ or a quick visit to the Fourth floor of St. Mungo's, accidents in Potions class ran the gamut from simple non-threatening side effects, to exploding cauldrons, to more permanent bodily injuries, and even death.

No, the real Severus Snape cannot be defined merely by his professional persona.  He was more than that person stalking in between students' tables, docking House points for careless answers in class, scaring pathetic dunderheads witless for his own pleasure.  That was not who he really was, although he suspected that that professional identity of his was the most consistent of the many faces he had to wear.  Perhaps that was who he truly was; that and his role as Draco's godfather – but even in that role of godfather, he did not allow himself to be truly honest with Draco.  He did not allow himself to lay bare his concerns, his fears and worries about the oncoming war, partly because to the young Slytherin, these emotions would appear as weakness, and partly because he himself feared the vulnerability in being truthful about his deeply buried self.

The truth was that he had hidden himself so successfully that in his heart of hearts, he did not know who he was anymore.  He only knew that who he was, was not whom he presented daily to those around him, and neither was it whom he wished to be, and it cut him to the quick to acknowledge that.

~*~

When Hermione asked him who he was, she did not expect the man to turn silent and introspective.  Nonetheless, she was aware of the sudden stillness in her bedfellow, and his deliberate movements as he sat up and leaned against the headboard beside her, looking wordlessly out into the dark room.

They sat there for what seemed like hours – the dark room and the soft glow of the fireplace lengthening the passage of time unconsciously.

In reality, it was not a philosophical quest to know who the man beside her was that prompted Hermione to ask that question.  It was just that bizarre feeling that the man beside her was _Professor Snape_, and that he behaved so out of character that she wanted to know if that man in the dark room with her was Snape or another person altogether.

_Honestly, Hermione!  Only you are capable of turning off even a man in your dream with your incessant and unnecessary need to know,_ she chided herself mentally.  _Besides, what does it matter if it were Snape?  It could very well be someone else!  And let's say for argument's sake that it was Snape, it's only your dream manifestation of him!  It's not as if he were really here._

She snorted in exasperation with herself.  The harsh exhalation of air seemed to break her partner's self-contemplation, as he shook his head and turned towards her expectantly.

"Erm," she began, haltingly, not knowing how to address the man who shared her bed, nor know how to make her request known, "it's rather dark in here.  Umm, do you think you could turn the lights on?"

The man seemed amused at her question, but he took a look around, presumably to look for a light source besides the glowing embers of the fireplace.

 "Well—"he drawled, turning back to Hermione, "I suppose we could do what we did the last time," he offered, with an evident smile in his voice.

Glad that the man had lightened up enough to tease her, she retorted with an answering smile, "Oh, I'm _sure_ you'd like that.  But there must be some other way to do this.  Do you have your wand with you?"

The man answered with a chuckle.  "My adorable creature," he smiled, and in a rakish tone, continued, "wouldn't you like to help me look for it?"

Hermione, glad for the dark that he wouldn't be able to see her blush, mentally conceded that she set herself up for that one.  Not willing to back down, however, she pretended to be scandalised and slapping his arm lightly, she admonished his tomfoolery.

~*~

Just when Severus' inward introspection began to spiral downwards into depression, the woman rein him back with a derisive snort at the dark and dangerous path he was taking.

Like a flip of a switch, Severus had an epiphany of what she had meant by her question: _'Who are you?'_ – not _'Who were you?'_ nor _'Who do you hope to be?'_

The wisdom of his lady!  She seemed to be saying that his morose musings counted for nothing – it was the gothic, depressing Severus again, that inward, private, self-pitying caricature of the man in black robes of depression again; and his melodrama well deserved that derision.  For she was right: focusing on what he was in the past only led to depression, and things past are things that cannot be changed.  Focusing on his future, on the other hand, his hope of finding redemption was an exercise in futility, as not even Trelawney could predict accurately what is to come or what tomorrow may bring.  No wonder she was impatient with his line of thoughts!

He gave himself a half-smile and shook his head.  He was amazed and impressed by her ability to cut to the heart of the matter and remind him that he had to live in the present – that who he was was just Severus Snape, no matter how others might see him or consider him.  His true identity, like everyone else, was constantly being formed because of his current actions.  And in reality, what he had to do – his spying, his teaching; yes, even his _betrayal_ of Voldemort's Army – these were things that _had_ to be done; and they should have no bearing on who Severus Snape in him was.  Until he understood that he needn't the approval of his fellow wizards to know his own worth, he would never find happiness in the past, present or the future.

He turned to her, and felt warm admiration rising in his chest.

Swiftly, the witch changed the subject and lightened the mood considerably, by asking him to turn the lights on in the room.  He was amused, for he was sure that the room, like the rest of his dream, was all under the direction of the woman before him.  However, he was willing to play along to see where she would lead him.  The epiphany he had before had enlightened him greatly, and he felt more whole than he had been for a long time – and it was all to her credit.

His roguish replies and her obvious fluster at them charmed him greatly.  He had wanted to get her back into the position the dream started out in and spend this time with her indulging in some of his more _interesting_ rumination he had had during the week.  He could not deny it – not now with the adorable creature sitting so deliciously next to him that he had struggled with wanting her and hoping his godson not find out that he was infatuated with her, especially so after the detention he had suffered through with her the previous Friday, wherein he discovered that beyond her serious, earnest schoolgirl façade, was a very matured and focussed young lady.

For after that one night's most amazing – _dare he say life-altering?_ – dream of her, when she had pierce through his constant night terrors like a shaft of light in a dark place, and where he had shared that mind numbing kiss with her, he had become obsessed with her.  True, his obsession had only really taken hold after her detention with him, and had grown steadily through this past week, but he had since memorised all her lovely features surreptitiously, which he hadn't bothered noticing before – the modulation in her voice, her frank and sincere manner of speaking and above all, that sweet, maddening scent of fresh strawberries that surrounded her like an aura.

_Hermione,_ his heart sighed.  He could recognise her anywhere now, even in the dimly lit room.  And he was thankful that like the previous week, his subconscious had taken the form of Hermione, and – _heaven forefend!_ – not Minerva, or Sprout, or even Miss Bulstrode!

But what if it _did_ take the form of another woman?  Would that matter at all?  Was he infatuated with this ideal of her – of her compassion for him, of her 'Queen Midas' touch'?  Or did he _really_ fancy the student, his godson's interest, the one he had spent last Friday evening with?

 ~*~

"That's not very helpful, is it?" Hermione asked mock-brusquely, amused at the way the man had twisted her request.  She was sure that the dream, strange though it was, was beyond her control.  She did not like not being in control, and although she knew that her bedfellow would not harm her, and that she was only in a dream, it did not lessen the discomfort she felt thinking that she was at the man's mercy.

After all, this dream, like the previous one, had that touch of dreamy, erotic quality with its intimate flavour – the warm bed, the dim room, the dark stranger that turned out to be Snape.  _No, _not_ Snape.  It could be another person, remember?  But if it were--, _ she stopped herself there, not daring to consider the implications of her dreaming about him in such a context _again_.

"Well, what would you suggest we do?" the man's low whisper replied, a smile in his voice.

"Perhaps you might get out of the bed and stoke that fire in the fireplace."

"Perhaps there are other fires I'd like to stoke," was his quick reply.

Hermione felt all the delicious heat that his reply generated, and she couldn't think of anything in response to that.  Perhaps a _'Stoke? Yes – but I'm feeling hot enough, thanks.'_  But she did not respond to that verbal temptation.  Instead, her mouth hung open and it was all she could do to remind herself that she needed to get oxygen inside of her.  _Breathe, Hermione, breathe!_

The man moved towards her on the bed and Hermione was certain that he would attempt to kiss her again.  She was so sure, she was so prepared for his proximity, that when he suddenly moved beyond her towards the fireplace, she felt very disappointed by his moving away.

She turned to look at him, crouched by the embers of at the fireplace, where she could vaguely make out his profile in the dark.  His shoulder-length hair curtained his face even as he seemed to be considering how to stoke the fire.  He turned to the side of the fireplace, where a stack of firewood was neatly stacked, and threw in a couple more logs, using the available poker to carefully cajole the wood to reignite.

Hermione chewed her lips in thought.  Until the man had stoop close to the dim firelight, she had consciously refused to acknowledge that her bedfellow was her Potions Professor.  But honestly, what did it matter if she was dreaming of her professor?  After all, this was not the first nor second time the professor featured in her dreams, was it?

_Well, yes and no,_ she thought to herself.

Her dreams of the professor had always held a nightmarish quality, occurring most frequently just before her potions examinations, where Snape would sneer and pronounce her potions pathetic and fail her miserably.  Her other dreams of him would have him sneer and take away house points from Harry, Ron or herself for not obeying school rules, whilst they were on yet another adventure, saving the day.  The worst dreams she had of him were during the time she was in the hospital wing, having taken the botched polyjuice potion, and dreaming that he had found out she had stolen the potion ingredients from his private stores.  Apart from those, she also had recurring dreams of that night in the Shrieking Shack, where Snape's anger took almost devilish proportions – when he was almost ready to kill Sirius.  In all, dream-Snape was the personification of the bogeyman, the dark shadow to be feared.

So, yes, this wasn't the first time Snape had featured in her dreams.

But--, she thought wryly. 

But, somehow the dream-Snape she encountered recently was very much different from the caricatures her former dreams made him to be.  _This_ Snape was a different creature altogether.  This Snape had a sad vulnerability that had compelled her to hold him, and sooth him.  This Snape had a poet's heart in the imagery he conjured with his words.  This Snape had allowed her into his darkest nightmares, and had welcomed her comfort.  True, she didn't know it was Snape until the very last bit of her previous dream, but if she were honest with herself, she knew she had intuitively sensed that the man in the dark as someone she trusted, and that his voice and scent was familiar to her after all those years as his student.

_But Hermione, this is not the real Snape!  This is not how Snape would behave!  This is what you _think_ Snape is like – the truth is that you don't know him at all!_

In her more reflective times, Hermione had sometimes wondered how Snape had coped with the work of being a spy for the Order.  She had known since her fourth year that Snape bore the Dark Mark, and that Dumbledore knew about it and trusted him.  With Harry's recent revelation that Snape was second in command of the Order, her admiration of her surly professor had increased, though her liking for him had not.

Perhaps these dreams of him she had – perhaps it was her subconscious helping her answer those questions of how Snape had coped?  But… there was something missing in this argument.  Surely understanding her ally in the war did not need the very intimate quality these dreams carried?

_Oh, you think too much, Hermione!_ she frowned.

Perplexed, she kept her eyes on her pyjama-clad professor, who had successfully got a tiny blaze going in the fireplace.  She had to bite back a giggle as she noticed the professor's dark green ensemble for the first time.  Even in her dreams he was wearing his House colours, just as she was in her Gryffindor red.

'How typical!' she thought with a smile, rolling her eyes.

In that meagre light, she studied his features, just as she had the week before at detention.  His black, lanky hair fell forward; obscuring his face, save for that crooked nose, and the grim line of his lips, with the corner of a crooked, yellow tooth protruding out.  She stifled another giggle, thinking about how her father would be professionally challenged to straighten and whiten those teeth; after all it was his speciality – Cosmetic Orthodontics.  Snape's slight overbite and crooked teeth would have sent her dad into raptures to get a before and after photograph of Snape's teeth for his ever-increasing portfolio.

Perhaps that was partly why her professor never smiled and very rarely bared his teeth.  Even in anger, Snape kept his mouth closed, deigning to barely whisper his threats.  She had seen some of her parent's clients whilst helping out in the dentistry over the summer holidays, and the common trait amongst the people waiting in the waiting room were their closed mouth hiding their ugly teeth and braces, and their pale faces as the dental drill would sound from the surgery.  She had gotten to know some of her parents' patients over the years, and she was used to seeing how some of them would contort their speaking in such a way as to hide their teeth, much like how Snape chose to whisper when speaking, hiding his orthodontic nightmare behind his lips.

The growing firelight cast a warm glow on Snape's face, giving his usually sallow skin a warm tinge.  She noted how his thick brows were furrowed in concentration, not unlike his usual classroom look, when demonstrating a particularly difficult sequence of potions brewing technique to the sixth and seventh years.  However, unlike classroom Snape, dream Snape's eyes were not narrowed in anger or exasperation at incompetent students.  Instead, his intelligent black eyes were contemplative, reflecting and regarding the fires as if they held some important answers that he needed.

Hermione had never seen his eyes looking like that.  It gave him a thoughtful, pensive look that somehow made him look more human than the persona he wore everyday.  Even during her detention, with her curiosity about his age and in her study of the man, she did not try to reconcile the idea that Snape was a person with feelings.  He was featureless – not a man with attractive, handsome eyes – no, he was her teacher, and as such, relegated to that corner of her mind as not having needless fanciful features.

Yes, Hermione, believe that lie – how do you explain Professor Gilderoy Lockhart? 

With that thought, she couldn't hold back her giggles anymore.  Hermione's innate honesty wouldn't allow herself to lie.  In Lockhart's case, she'd been infatuated with the handsome man, until the events unfolded to show that Lockhart's gilding was fool's gold.  Not like the true worth of Severus Snape.  The value of the DADA professor was his external appearance and sparkly wide smile.  Defence Against the Dark Arts?  Not likely – not when defending others means ruffling Lockhart's otherwise perfect hair, perfect face, perfect nails.  No.  The man truly defending Hogwarts against the Dark Arts was dark himself – dark lanky hair from hours spent before the cauldron; dark ringed-eyes due to sleepless nights probably working in defending against said Dark Arts; and dark, potion-stained fingernails.  The far greater value of Severus Snape was hidden behind his repulsive exterior, much like an unpolished diamond, which looks as valueless as the next glass pebble to the undiscerning eye.

Hermione's hand naturally reached for her diamond pendant that was a gift from her parents on her birthday.  Yes, it was pure irony that the teacher with whom she had been infatuated with was all show and no substance, but the one she hated, or at least been indifferent to all these years, was quite the opposite.  She smiled thinking about the differences between the two professors, and remembering that day in her second year when the two stood facing each other in a Wizards' Duel.  Hermione's smile grew into a smirk thinking about how Snape had so effectively disarmed his opponent, who had the audacity to claim that he had allowed Snape to best him, in order to show the students the effects of the spells cast.

"What is it that so amused you?" he broke her reverie with his question, walking over to the bed to sit on the edge near her feet, leaning against the post at the foot of the bed.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," she turned towards his face and answered with a mischievous grin.

At Snape's raised eyebrow, she explained herself, "I was just thinking how different you are from Professor Lockhart.  One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it."

~*~

She had asked him to stoke the fire, and he had bantered with her.

As he tried to ignite the fresh logs he had thrown into the fireplace with the still glowing embers, he was well aware of the woman's eyes on him.

What is she thinking?  What does she want? 

He felt as warm as the fire he was stoking.  Through the curtain of his hair, he surreptitiously spied her staring unabashed at him, chewing her lips, her brown eyes guilelessly wide open, and her hair a wild mess from sleeping on the pillows.  Once or twice, he swore he saw her trying to suppress a smile – did it amuse her to see him stoking the fire like a common House Elf?

The emerging light from the fireplace revealed the thin, Gryffindorish red spaghetti straps of her nightdress, the low scoop of the neckline, and that brilliant diamond fire resting against the seductive rise and fall of her breasts, as she reclined against the pillows at the headboard, the blankets covering her modestly from the waist down.

_Does she even know how alluring she looks?_ he turned his eyes back to the fire.

Did she always look like this?  He doubted it.  After all, she came to Hogwarts when she was an annoying brat and constant companion of Potter's boy.  And Severus, no matter how perverse his life had been, was no paedophile.  Hell, he could barely tolerate the younger brats he taught daily!  It was only his upperclassmen that he could deign to consider worthy of his time teaching, but even then, he was not likely to think of them as anything other than his students; frankly, he had more pressing issues on his mind, like how to survive his dual role through this war.

But what made the difference now?  Why was he dreaming of his student?  Why was he lusting after her?

This wasn't right on so many levels.  Not least because of…

_Draco._

He had a responsibility to his godson, and dreaming about Hermione… No.  It's just a bloody dream – it's not as if he were cheating with Hermione behind Draco's back.

Then again, why her?  Why, of all women on earth did his subconscious choose her?  Why not… why not Keltsha Waters, the cute Ravenclaw, whom he was infatuated with when he was in sixth year?  Why not his beautiful cousin Sylvia Verdis, with whom he grew up together and lost his first kiss to?  Why not her?  In fact, why not a nameless, unknown woman altogether?  Why put the idea of the unattainable Miss bloody Granger in his mind, and in this setting?  Why put her in that delectable nightdress, that tissue thin satin?  Why not dress his psyche up in a St. Mungo's Mediwitch robe and put him on a couch?  Why a bed, in a room with no windows, no doors – just a bloody four poster and a bloody fireplace?  Why?  Why this need for a bloody fantasy?

Her giggles broke through the silent twenty questions in his mind, as if sweeping the questions aside as unimportant.  _Why indeed?_ Severus let out a soft snort in acknowledgement.  What difference did it make if his dreamscape chose Hermione or this particular setting?  The point was that as long as he was in _this_ dream, he would not need to see nor hear those orphans screaming accusations.  This dream was a respite, a peaceful lull, no matter what form it took.

Severus cut his eyes to the woman on the bed, who was fiddling with her diamond pendant, lost in thought, with a secret smile on her face.  She had pulled up her legs under the blanket, and was resting her elbows on her covered knees.  Severus had never seen a lovelier tableau of intimacy and comfort in having a woman in his bed.  It was the picture of domestic intimacy, not the sort of raw passions associated with lovers, and he grew jealous of the man who would claim the right to come home to her, seeing her in such a position, thinking about him each night before they retire to bed.

No point in playing 'if onlys' and 'what ifs', Severus.  There is a reason why these situations are called 'dreams'.

He sighed a little, got up silently and stole towards the young lady, who did not seem to notice him at all.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he asked lightly, "What is it that so amused you?"

Resting against the bedpost, he was surprised when she answered, "Gilderoy Lockhart" with a brilliant smile.

What is it with that frippery buffoon?  Surely she wouldn't-- 

She interrupted his thoughts with, "I was just thinking how different you are from Professor Lockhart.  One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it."

Reeling from her words to him, Severus stared at Hermione and wondered if what she said could be true.  He knew that he had done a great evil in his wanton murder of innocents, in his abetting the first rise of the Dark Lord.  He knew that his caustic nature towards his students and colleagues were not exactly endearing traits.  He knew too, that his compassion for those weaker than him was almost non-existent, and if he showed any kindness at all, it was more often than not hidden, untold and done anonymously.  He had a cover to keep and the lives and work of many depended on him maintaining his façade successfully.

But to be affirmed as 'good'… that was something else altogether.  What was his subconscious trying to say?  That he should start forgiving himself for what he had done in his youth?  That the way of redemption is not just in atonement, but also in seeing rightly that he had goodness?  That he had gain some worth even in his work of atonement?

Hermione was speaking again, "You know,—" she hesitated, "Professor Snape—"

"Severus, please.  I can't have you calling me 'Professor Snape' in this setting, now can I?" he interrupted with a levity in his tone he did not fully feel.

"Severus, then," she bit her lips nervously.

Severus gave her a small smile in encouragement for her to continue.

"I was just going to say that my mother's favourite gemstones are diamonds, not because they are expensive or precious or beautiful—" she said, as she continued playing with her solitaire.  Severus found his line of sight drawn to the precious stone between her thumb and forefinger, framed against the background of her chest, just above the alluring neckline of her dress.  He had to mentally shake himself to pay attention to Hermione, and not at the hypnotic sight before him.

"—diamonds are my mother's favourites because of how they are formed."

Mother's favourites.  Diamonds.  How were diamonds formed?  Did you know your eyes sparkle like diamonds?  Pay attention, Severus!

~*~

Hermione blushed when her professor gave her leave to call him by his first name.  But should that be remarkable?  After all, it was only a dream.  She is not likely to lapse and call her professor 'Severus' in reality, now is she?

She tried out the name cautiously, "Severus, then."

He had smiled in response, and whilst she still couldn't see his crooked teeth hidden obsessively behind his lips, she thought that that smile was a vast improvement over his sneer.  She had then tried to explain her mother's love of diamonds, but could see that he looked distracted, and she wondered if she had gone into her lecture-mode again.

She paused, waiting to see his reaction.

He looked up into her eyes.

"How they are formed?" he blinked.  "How _are_ they formed?"

Fine, if you really want to know… she thought with a smile. 

"My mother says that diamonds are the hardest substance known to man, and therefore, the most precious.  I don't know about the magical world, but in the muggle world, diamonds are created from worthless coals that have gone through extreme geological pressures.  The pressures transform the coals into pebble-like stones, which are then polished to release its shine.  Mum always tells me that until I go through trials and pressures that test me, I'll only remain a common coal.  It is only through not yielding to the pressures and trials that face us, that forms our inner values, our inner worth, like coal transforming into diamond," she smiled, thinking that transfiguring coals to diamonds was something that might be difficult for magical folks to understand, seeing as how Professor McGonagall could easily do it on a whim.  "The diamond analogy doesn't stop there, though," she continued.

"It doesn't?" he murmured.

Hermione shook her head, which effectively loosen some of the tangled strands in her hair.  Her eyes caught an excited gleam as she shared her thoughts with Severus.

"No, it doesn't.  You see, diamonds need to be polished before they can shine.  Since diamonds are the hardest substance known to man, diamonds can only be polished with another diamond.  Mum says like diamonds polishing diamonds, our worth can only shine forth if polished by the people around us.  She says that we need to develop right relationship with people, especially people who have gone through similar trials like we have; people who have strength of character.  It is through relating and interacting with such people that my inner diamond can shine," she smiled.  "You know, Severus, you are like that diamond pebble.  In fact," she paused, with a teasing smile, "I think your diamond pebble's rather large, considering the work you do for the Order.  But—" she hesitated.

"But—" he encouraged.

She sighed, "But you don't let anyone else near enough to you to allow for polishing."

Hermione fell silent for a moment, waiting for Severus' to accept what she had said.  He had broken his eye contact with her, choosing to stare at the fireplace in thought instead.

Hermione couldn't understand what it was about this dream-Snape that caused her to tell him so much.  She didn't know if it were the way dream-Severus seemed to hang on her words that empowered her to talk to her taciturn professor in such a manner.  All she knew was that she felt compelled to show compassion to this hurting man, this man with nightmares every night, this man who looked to her – to plain old Hermione Granger – as if she had some power to bring light into his otherwise dark world.

"Your mother is a wise woman," he said, when he returned from his introspection.  "I can see where you got your wisdom from," he smiled, putting his hand over hers.

Hermione scooted over to him, eyes smiling, "Thank you.  I must warn you though," she looked up into his dark eyes, "polishing can be a downright painful process at times.  You will have to put up with people who might disagree with you, or people who don't understand you.  But along the way, you might be able to meet some kindred spirits."

"Kindred spirits?" he whispered, "Is that what you are?" he traced her cheek with the index finger of his other hand.

Hermione stared into his eyes, his whisper caressing her skin.  "If you like," she breathed, "After all, we are fighting on the same side."

"Thank you, Hermione," he murmured, and pulled her lips onto his own.

~*~

**A/N: **

I had so many drafts of this story it was unbelievable.  I toyed with the idea of keeping the dream sequence purely Severus or purely Hermione, instead of switching views so many times; unfortunately, I haven't the writing skill to sustain their misunderstanding through the entire dream sequence.

Also, I deliberately lightened the intensity of their interaction as much as possible (you should see how intense some of the out-takes were! *giggles*), because in the Dream timeline, it is still October, and there is Christmas at the Grangers to look forward to.  Hermione and Draco still has work to do on the Map, Severus still has to go through a make-over (that's the part where I know what is going to happen), and the final build-up to war with Voldemort has yet to be written.  I have allowed Severus and Hermione this one kiss, though, so I hope that satisfies for some time. *heh*  BTW, if it's not obvious, that's where the dream ends. *winks*


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: In which we delve into Voldemort's dreams…

Chapter 13

Voldemort surveyed the scene below him with a mild sense of satisfaction.

His army was growing steadily.  Granted, its growth was unlike its previous incarnation – those glory days where the Death Eaters had recruits joining their rank with an almost fanatical fervour on a daily basis; those halcyon days, when wizarding families considered it a matter of familial pride to be associated with the Dark Lord, whose politics ensured the continuance of the Old Ways, which was slowly, but surely being eroded by the influx of lesser wizards who believed that dalliances with muggles and muggle lifestyles was 'progress' for their society.

Voldemort sneered.  Muggles?  Progress?  He'd lived with those monsters for most of his young life and muggles were not progress – if anything, they were a regression; a species of the primate family that were particularly vicious and small-minded.  And Voldemort knew muggles first-hand.  Ironically, his own father was a muggle.  The orphanage he grew up in was filled with muggles.  Madam Wilcoft, the matron of the orphanage, was a muggle.  He had yet to meet a muggle who was the equivalent of a wizard.  Muggles were insipid, pathetic, powerless creatures – prosaic, with neither beauty nor poetry.

Muggles, simply, were not magical.

Mean-spirited, vile creatures, muggles were puffed up with their own petty achievements.  The light bulb?  How could that compare with the cleaner, transportable light energy of a first-year _lumos_ spell?  Could their modes of transportation compare with a simple Apparate?  Or even a Portkey?  Were muggles able to travel through time?  No!  How much more efficient was magic, compared to those polluting muggle machines, which often failed because of their reliance on an external energy source such as fuel or electricity – not to mention all the various sub-parts of the machine that can and will go wrong.  He'd not only read, but seen for himself the devastation that muggle pollution caused to his beautiful Yorkshire countryside, how the pristine natural world was now scarred with so-called 'muggle progress'.  Bah!

Muggles were never an enlightened species, often self-destructing, and taking the rest of the planet with them!

Far better were the Old Ways, long before the Age of Enlightenment and the Industrial Age.  It was the Renaissance that started this slippery slide into empowering the muggles – that period marking the start of 'enlightened' wizards taking the guise of muggles, associating with them, teaching them to read and record, hoping to lift the creatures so similar to themselves into a higher plane.  And where did _that_ lead?  Were muggles able to overcome their vile blood coursing through them?  Of course not!  Muggle history surely attests to their blood lust and selfish ways.  Muggles were nothing more than dressed up brutes, far worse than grubby goblins and their rebellions.  Muggles kill without cause, without reason; muggle children were vicious in their taunts, their bully tactics – or had the magical community forgotten all about the atrocities of the muggles' Holocaust?  Have wizarddom so easily forgotten the persecution of wizards since time immemorial, over all cultures, over all the Ages?  Do wizards truly believe that the key to peace in wizarding society is co-existence with the very creatures that will bite the hand that feed it?  Hadn't history taught them enough that the heart of a muggle is envy and hate?

Time and time and time again, wizards have sought to 'help' muggles in their weakness.  Certainly in the area of healthcare, Mediwizards – 'healers' – have gone about muggles, healing them with magic, bringing relief to their need.  These wizards have also taught muggles simple potion brewing, utilizing the lesser magical properties of plants – but to what purpose?  Instead of expanding in their healthcare knowledge by building on what they have been taught about these herbs, muggles have turned these natural healing plants into addictive substances, profiteering off other muggles for their own benefit, with nary a thought to the destruction of their fellow creatures' health.  Such thoughtless, heartless creatures!  And to these, the wizarding society must co-exist?

Not if he had anything to do with it!

Voldemort knew that his methods were less than orthodox, but why should more humane methods be employed to these animals?  And if he were to carry out his plans, and wizards had to be casualties of this war, what did that signify?  A few must fall for the many to benefit.  It was imperative for the Old Ways to be reinstated.  The end justifies the means.

Seeing that the Specialist Instructor had set the Death Eaters an assignment to complete, Voldemort turned to walk down the spiral staircase to the class below.  He had to motivate his troops.  It will not be an easy war, but they need to know what they were fighting for; and it was not about vengeance against a well-meaning old coot nor a guileless young boy.  The war was for the future of all wizardkind.

Stopping at the foot of the stairs, he surveyed his Dark Army.  Truth be told, he was glad that there was an increase in strength.  Numbers meant that the success of this campaign would undoubtedly be swifter, greater.  It was unfortunate, really, that unlike previously, where he could recruit his Death Eaters more openly, explaining his vision for the wizarding society through dinners in the Old Families and drinks and smoke in wizarding gentlemen clubs, his unexpected banishment by a mere toddler and the spin by those on Dumbledore's side, had effectively closed this route.

The mindless herds of followers quickly took in the simple story that both Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic wove.  Gone was the truth behind his vision for wizarding UK to restrict muggle contact; replaced instead with the pathetic idea that this coming war was about vengeance.

Harry Potter?  What is a Harry Potter against an entire Dark Army?  Any one of his Death Eater, each trained to be ruthless killing machine – well versed in the Dark Arts, the Art of Duelling, Poison and Espionage; any one of them could easily do away with the boy at any time.

Stupidly, his enemies believe that his lying low, building up an _Army_ was all for petty vengeance.

_ 'Harry Potter,' _Voldemort thought with a snort, a shake of his head and a wry smile.  Granted, he himself was shocked that night at Godric's Hollow, when his Killing Curse ricocheted back to him.  He hadn't expected that turn of events, of course, but unlike that fool Dumbledore, he did not attribute it to any special magical powers that the toddler might possess.

It was a mistake.  An almost fatal mistake, nonetheless, but an error of judgement which he admitted to making.  On hindsight, Voldemort should have remembered that magical babies had a natural blood protection.  After all, it was for that very reason that magical babies born to muggles were not removed from their families until after their tenth birthday.  Otherwise, not only were they unprotected from harm, the adoptive family – be it wizarding or muggle – might suffer undue backlash from the uncontrolled early magic that these children might perform.  However, if the magical child were orphaned, and if no blood relative were available to take care of the child, the child might then be safely adopted by a wizarding family.

The irony, of course, was that Voldemort should have remembered that fact – especially since he had spent his own miserable childhood suffering from the lack of protection his muggle father's blood would have endowed him with.  He had enough beatings from his early childhood from his fellow inmates at the Greater Yorkshire Orphanage to remind him daily of the fact.  And if he ever forgot the beatings he endured in his first ten years, dear, dear old Madam Wilcroft and her discipline rod, were always kind enough to remind him of his place and position, each summer when he returned from his obviously expensive boarding school in Scotland.

_'Muggles,'_ Voldemort sneered in thought, _'Petty, jealous, insipid creatures.'_

Of course, that muggle orphanage was no more – Voldemort's mouth turned at the corner – a mystery, really, how the entire orphanage was razed to the ground without a single survivor.

Voldemort's smile grew in wistful remembrance… until his face suddenly hardened.

He should have aimed to kill Lily Potter first, instead of aiming for that blasted child.  His bloodlust had blinded him, and on hearing the wailing of the child, he had immediately aimed the curse at him… only to have Lily Potter throwing herself in the direct path of the curse.  The curse had gone through her, killing her instead of that miserable, crying boy and rebounded back to him, ripping him from his body.

Stupid mistake.

Not one that he would make again.

He did not die – and wasn't it said that that which did not kill, would only make one stronger?  He would triumph again – especially since his enemies were pathetically underestimating him once again.

Voldemort was no fool.  He did not spend ten years wandering restlessly, desperately, in the Albanian Dark Forest wasting his time.  Contrary to popular belief, Voldemort was patient and he knew that training, strategising, studying his enemy's weaknesses took time.  It took him about thirty years to build up his first army, studiously researching warfare and strategies, putting people in place, building his vision piece by piece.

It was not easy, his years of exile in Albania.  But he kept his vision, his focus on overcoming his enemies, on his comeback.  He knew, just as he knew that he would succeed this time round, that one of his loyal followers would seek him out and find a way to restore him back to his body.  Then he would return to his destiny, return to his power and then the wizarding world will once again tremble at the name of Lord Voldemort, and once again understand the importance of ridding their world of the vile taint of muggles and muggleborns.

And what was a mere three years' wait for his Army to expand?  The time was coming when his Army will defend the wizarding population against those that seek to destroy the Old Ways once again.  These three years, whilst the wizardkind speculated over the rumours of his return – thanks to Potter, he had used the time wisely to regain his magical strength.  He still relied on Nagini for her essence to sustain him even in this body, and the truth was he still hadn't fully recovered to his full potency.  His body, through the various potions he had his Potions Specialist create for him, had been transformed to be more humanlike, but he still retained the unnerving red reptilian eyes.  Until the day he regained his full power, he would continue to look more serpent than man – a fact he kept from even his closest followers, knowing that some in his ranks joined for more prosaic reasons such as a lust for power and vengeance against the arbitrary government system of wizarddom.

Therefore, the true extent of Voldemort's powers was hidden from even his trusted lieutenants.  He used Pettigrew – number 3 – to look for books on a wide variety of topics in order to hide his real pursuit – the return of his magic and his old body.  Weekdays were spent pouring over the books, brewing potions, sometimes consulting number 7, meditating and exercising his magic.  The returns were slow, but he was grateful at least that he was able to return with his full mental capacity.  For since he wasn't able to control his Death Eaters by his weakened powers, he was still able to use his powers of manipulation and Slytherin cunning to keep his disciples towing the line.

Number 7… he observed the easy way the man managed his classroom.  Unlike number 28 who taught Charms, 7 need not rely on entertaining his students with jokes or charming anecdotes to impart his knowledge.  7 taught his class with a firm authority, which number 13, the Dark Arts Specialist, had better learn.  13 had some difficulties controlling his class, especially those pupils who felt they knew better than their instructor, and feedback from the troops was that 13 was disorganised in preparing and imparting his lessons.

Voldemort observed the way 7 recalled his students from their assignments.  The various pairs took turns reporting their findings to the rest of the class.

Keeping an eye on the rather mundane class reports, Voldemort thought back to that night in the cemetery – ironically, the place of his rebirth.  It was a gamble he took, knowing the energy drain the Dark magic cast to return him into a bodily being would be on him, to use whatever little power he had in casting the Cruciatus Curses, the Imperious Curse, giving Wormtail a new hand and duelling with Potter.  But it was a gamble he had to take, and which he'd won.  It was imperative that his remaining Death Eaters – his lieutenants really, were reminded of his immense power prior to his magical banishment.  They needed to believe that they were backing a powerful Mage.  If they knew that it was all just a Muggle illusion and sleight of hand…

Voldemort smiled.

And thanks to that Potter brat and the myth that that fool Dumbledore created…

True, he was thwarted by Potter when he set out to steal the Philosopher's Stone.  However, the weak-minded fool that he had inhabited then was as much to blame for as his weakened state.  But he did not die then, did he?  As far as he was concerned, his not dying meant that he was able to seek another way of returning.  Although, truth be told, he was very sore that he wasn't able to get his hand on the Stone – it would have made his return all the easier.

He had heard young 103's report about Potter's second year victory over his schoolboy diary, and the report had amused him greatly.  No doubt, Dumbledore would see it as confirmation of Potter as some sort of special magical crusader, a… _hero_ against the big, bad, Lord Voldemort.  He snorted.  _That_ Tom Riddle was merely a memory, albeit magical memory, but only a memory nonetheless.  For Potter to have had to struggle so hard – even having to bring out the Sword of Gryffindor in order to subdue his memory and that docile, biddable, lonely Basilik… not quite the powerful wizard, was he now?  Tom Riddle the _boy_ trapped in that journal had not even the full power of Voldemort!

Voldemort's mouth curled at the corner.

Ah yes… he had great fun his final year as a Head Boy.  All the sweeter since he was officially of age, and needn't go back to that miserable orphanage after his seventh year.  The sweet anticipation of throwing off the yoke of being under the authority to Dippet and Wilcroft was exquisite, and it had allowed him some fun in devising that prank against the goody Gryffindors and that pesky Transfiguration professor that resulted in him receiving yet another school award and the House Cup for Slytherin that year, in addition to his Medal for Magical Merit for his unheard of achievement at NEWTs.

Yes.  His boyhood pranks had revisited Hogwarts in Potter's second year.  But that was all it was – a mere boyhood prank.  And it wouldn't take a great wizard to overcome a non-entity, a mere memory, and that of him as a boy.  Surely Dumbledore could have banished that memory easily without sending the boy Potter into what could have been his doom.

Voldemort shook his head with a sly smile.

Little did Dumbledore suspect that the resulting Potter-myth actually helped him convince his lieutenants to return to his cause.  The irony was delicious.  He had launched into his theatrics, his dramatics, his story-telling that night in the cemetery.  And like a master puppeteer, he had manipulated his audience to see him duelling with the boy.  He was convinced that fourth year syllabus at Hogwarts would not have changed much, and there was a good chance that whatever spell he cast would easily defeat the boy.  In the off chance that the boy was able to hit him with a mortal blow, he was sure his Death Eaters surrounding the two of them would take matters into their hand and kill the boy.

Either way, he would win.

As expected, the Cruciatus brought Potter to his knees, but the energy expended caused his Imperious Curse to be less effective.  Potter was able to break it without much difficulty.  What he had not counted on, was the coincidence of Potter holding a brother-wand, which as any wizard scholar worth his salt would know, would cancel out the other – even the _Adava Kedavra_.  For a time, he was afraid – he knew that the power coursing from the joint wands was actually in control by Potter, and if his Death Eaters were to cast any spell then, it might release a surge of magical energy rivalling the Hiroshima atomic bomb.  And then, Potter's stronger magical energy began to drain his wand's fast fading power, which he had feared would happen.  When the energy cage had faded, he had allowed Potter to escape, for in that split second in the magical cage, he realised that to feed the Potter-myth would be sending a Trojan horse back to Dumbledore.  Potter would report all he knew, and in the time-honoured exaggeration of boyhood, Potter would report that Voldemort was back, stronger than ever.

Voldemort smiled.  It would never occur to the vainglorious boy that he was not such a powerful wizard himself; even bumbling Norman Crabbe would be able to cast a powerful enough Killing Curse to wipe the boy out.

The ensuing media stories as a result of Potter's exaggerations had thrown wizarding UK into panic and chaos.  Potter had named his Death Eaters, but the stupid boy forgot that it was his word against upstanding members of the society.  Moreover, Voldemort had no intention of making his presence known – at least, not until he had regained more of his strength.  He would bide his time.  He would bide his time, and strike when he deemed the time was right.  And, with the passing of each Death Eater meeting, the time was nearing.

Voldemort paused his musings and returned to observing the training before him.

"There are 3 potions on the desks in front of each of you.  Each is a poison using a different base.  This," the Specialist trainer indicated the potion on the right, "is a snake venom poison.  When introduced into the bloodstream, snake venom will accelerate tissue death."

The Specialist looked at the masked students before him and continued, "To prevent poisoning by snake venom, you test for the poison with the _Revelus_.  Snake venom based poison will reveal itself as a green tinge.  Cast the _Revelus_ now."

The room was filled with voices casting the _Revelus_ over the first vial.  Few were successful in the first try.

Voldemort signalled the Specialist, who walked over to his Lord Commander.

"Master?" the Specialist bowed low in greeting.

"7," Voldemort replied, "I'm pleased with your work – your trainees have shown progress in their use and detection of poisons.  Of course," he smirked, "the threat that our Potions Specialist will test their knowledge without them knowing the when and the where naturally keep them on their toes."

"Indeed, my Lord," 7 replied with another short bow.

"Good work, 7.  You have pleased your master, and will be well rewarded."

"Thank you, my Lord.  I am merely carrying out my duty for the greater cause."

Voldemort nodded and smiled paternally at 7, then asked, "How goes the night-vision potion, 7?"

"I will be able to ready the prototype by the end of the month, Master.  The potion requires a brewing period of a month, but it will undoubtedly be an apt addition to our celebration of Halloween."

Voldemort laughed.  "Indeed, it would, 7.  Indeed, it would.  I have no doubt in your considerable potions skill – you are our resident Potions Specialist, after all.  Moreover, I only work with the best, and you are the best."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Carry on the good work, 7."

7 bowed low once again and continued his instructions to the trainees.

~*~

TBC.

A long A/N:

It was a hard time wrestling with Voldemort's dreams and perspective.  I find it hard to have a motley crew engaging in guerrilla warfare without planning, discipline or vision.  Also, I cannot accept that Voldemort is just a cartoon-character madman to have followers from the crème de la crème of wizarding society.  The Snake House seeks ambition as a strong trait, and whilst Slytherins might use grey-area logic to their advantage, they are no doubt from Old Families of status and power.  In order for these families to back Voldemort in his first rise would mean that there was a serious unhappiness about the way things in the magical community were carried out.

The fandom's idea of Death Eaters' Dark Revels, whilst interesting, remain a fundamental roadblock to my mind.  What purpose does it serve to the Death Eaters to spend time in revelling, when they had a war to prepare?  Were the wizards so arrogant as to think that they were superior witches and wizards to the Magical Law Enforcers and Aurors?  Also, I found difficulty accepting that the likes of Lucius Malfoy and other wizarding families of repute would enjoy raping muggles, whom they considered untouchables.  Humiliating them in public (as seen in GoF) seemed more their style, and it made sense, seeing as it would promote the cause that muggles are weak.  It would be the wizarding equivalent of heavy-handed bullying tactics, the likes of organisations such as the KKK.

Also, engaging in war requires knowledge of war-craft before foot soldiers can carry out their missions successfully.  And what better way than for training?  After all, Aurors needed training too and to face their mortal enemies, the Dark Army would need to train as well.

My apologies for the lack of Hermione in this chapter, she'll be back, together with her peers in the next chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:  **The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

Reminder: OotP never happened. Heh.

Chapter 14

Severus woke up to the mid-morning sunlight filtering through the magically charmed windows in his bedroom.

The previous night's Death Eater meeting was little more than another potions class designed to test his patience.  If number 67 did not pay attention to his instructions one more time, he just might give into temptation and allow for a first in his potions class – his first pupil to fall victim to a fatal potions accident.

He grimaced, remembering how after the Dark Lord had called him over to praise his dutiful work, he had the class work on a snake venom antidote in case their _Revelus_ charm did not work.  Number 67, the equivalent of Neville Longbottom in his Death Eater potions class, had added too much _Equisetum arvense_ into his antidote, and instead of neutralising the effect of the venom, had severely accelerated the rate of tissue death caused by the poison.  Fortunately for 67, Severus had already foreseen that an accident of that nature might happen and had been prepared for that contingency.  Then again, the application of the correct antidote now rendered 67 mute for at least a month.

_'Well, at least some good came out of that fiasco,'_ Severus smirked, as he got out of bed, stretching his muscles, as he headed for the bathroom.

If it were not for the fact that Voldemort still had immense power over his Death Eaters, Severus would have easily created situations in his Death Eater potions class to decimate the Dark Army with fatal potion accidents.  A lovely thought, but flawed, nonetheless.  He might get away with one fatal 'accident', but it would be all too suspicious to have his Death Eater students consistently dying in his class.

Splashing water on his face, Severus looked up into the mirror, still drowsy.

_Voldemort_.

The Dark Lord was in an off-mood last night, he mused.  There was something – he sensed – something _melancholic_ about the brooding creature, staring into space, observing his class.  Just what was the Dark One thinking of?

"No, Severus," he murmured to himself, regarding his obsidian eyes reflected in the mirror, "the labyrinthine mind of that half-human is _not_ worth delving into."  _'At least, not on a Sunday morning,'_ he mentally added.

There were other things to put his mind to – not least the night-vision potion he had to perfect by Halloween in two weeks' time.  Well, he would tackle that bit of fun after working on the coming week's lesson plans and marking the essays, which were due for returning to the students tomorrow.

_'What joy,'_ he sneered.

At least he had the company of his godson for dinner to look forward to tonight.

Changing into his Sunday robes – which differed from his usual teaching robes in the dark green trim in its collar and hem, Severus walked over to the fireplace to place an order with the House Elves for breakfast and a secure owl to be delivered to his study.  He sat down at his desk and quickly jotted down a standard report on the potions he taught the Death Eaters last night and his general observation of the other classes he had the brief opportunity to glimpse for Dumbledore.  With the report completed, he started arranging the paperwork on his desk to get down to the business of illuminating the minds of the future mover and shakers of the Magical community.

Well, one could always dream, couldn't one?

Then it suddenly struck him – he had no dream last night!

Well, of course he hadn't!  He had taken the improved dreamless sleep potion, hadn't he?  And naturally, the potion had worked, as it should.

But he had taken the potion the previous night, and he had dreamt of Her!

What made the difference?  He frowned.  Could the potion have interacted with what he had had for dinner?  There was precedence for such cases, after all.  Perhaps the vial that potion was in was contaminated, changing the make-up of the potion, resulting in that dream of Her.  It wouldn't be the first time such a thing happened.  Perhaps the potion worked differently when taken during the Waning Gibbous or the Last Quarter of the Moon phase.  Some potions – like the Wolfsbane – are affected by the lunar phases, after all.   Perhaps the ambient temperature of the potion taken the first time made the difference.  Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps…

He was sorely disappointed, despite the fact that his new brew was a resounding success, as far as having dreamless sleep was concerned.

~*~

"Hermione."

The girl in question was bent over her extra-curricula reading, her head of untamed brunette curls creating a jungle curtain obscuring her face.

"Hermione," the boy repeated, raising his voice.

Still, the girl did not move a muscle – almost if Hermione were a victim of a _Petrificus Totalis_ curse.  Ron knew better, having been a close friend of Hermione for the past six years.  He knew well Hermione's _modus operandi_ when she was caught up in reading something very interesting; a personal trait of Hermione that never failed to irritate him.

He rolled his eyes and raised his voice further, "Hermione!"

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, "You startled me!"

Heaving a theatrical sigh, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain fell into the empty chair beside his best female friend, grumbling, "I was standing here for ages, calling your name!"

"Sorry," Hermione shrugged, unapologetic.

"Yeah," he shook his head.  "Gin said that you got up the same time as her, so I knew I'd find you here."

"And how was Quidditch practice this morning?" Hermione asked, arranging the parchments spread across the library tables into two piles.

"Same old, same old," the boy lounged in his seat, "Wot'cha doing?"

Hermione gave the boy an incredulous stare, an amused smile at her lips,  "You mean besides studying for NEWTs?"

"NEWTs' a long way off, 'Mione!"

"Ronald Weasley, I'll have you know that it's already October, and we have about seven months before the exams – not much time, you know!"

"Yes, _mother_."  He rolled his eyes, knowing that that would tick her off.

"What can I do for you, Ron?" Hermione sighed.  "What do you need?"

Ron gave her a lazy grin – a grin he'd perfected over the summer.  It was a grin that would cause any witch at Hogwarts to be tongue-tied if they found themselves a recipient of – with the exception of Hermione.  Ron was, after all, a boy that she had grown up with as part of a trio of closely-bonded friends; a trio whose friendship was tried and tested through a myriad of dangerous life-and-death circumstances, a friendship that was cemented by six years of fierce loyalty and support.  Together with Harry, Ron and Hermione had a love for one another that was closer than that of siblings.

"Hermione, you _know_ what I need," he teased suggestively.

"Ron, you need a knock on your head," she volleyed back.

"Oh Hermione, you wound me!" he grabbed his chest, in a fake swoon.

Hermione merely folded her arms across her chest and narrowed at her eyes at her friend.  "Ron," she warned.

"Well," he drawled, "it's just that I heard a rumour at Quidditch practice this morning."

"So?" Hermione raised her eyebrows, "What has that got to do with me?"

"Oh it has _everything_ to do with you.  Or at least half of it does," he amended with a wink.

"Ron.  Get.  To.  The.  Point," Hermione bit out, teeth-clenched, index finger jabbing at the boy's chest to emphasise her point.  Ron was obviously having fun at her expense, knowing just how to push her buttons.  "I'm too busy to play at 'I-heard-a-rumour-guess-what-it-is'!" she huffed.

Ron knew better than to get riled up at Hermione's tone of voice.  Earlier in their friendship, he might have escalated their 'conversation' and ended up arguing with her.  With age and a little maturity, he had learnt how to differentiate between Hermione's real anger and banter.  Moreover, he had learnt to see that when Hermione argued with him, her underlying concern was for both his and Harry's well-being.  Thus, with this understanding, their fights, which used to cause Harry some discomfort being caught in the middle, lost much of its sting.

"Apparently, our dear Hermione is not quite _ours_ any longer," he revealed.  "There is talk that you have succumbed to the _charms_ of a certain Slytherin."

Hermione blushed – what had Ron heard?  She knew that since she had confided in Harry about recreating the Magical Map with Draco, Ron would have heard about her working with Draco.  But Ron's implication is certainly more than that.

Biting her lips, she avoided looking at Ron, who was eyeing her reactions intently.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I heard from a reliable source that not only are you working together with him on a certain project, but that you have a _thing_ for blonde-haired gits," he leered.  "Then again, why should I be surprised?  I seem to recall a certain somebody's crush on another blonde-haired git in her second year."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!  That's totally unfair!  I was only thirteen then!"

"Still—"

"Ron," she growled in warning.

"Hermione," he mocked.

Hermione sighed.  "It's not like that, Ron—" she tried to explain.

"Hermione," he interrupted, "I'm fine, with it.  Really.  You're old enough to know what you're doing.  And though I might hate the guy's guts on the Quidditch pitch," he lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure that it was only Hermione and himself in the library, "I've talked to Harry, and _he_ says Malfoy's on our side."

Hermione had her arms folded across her chest again, and with an exasperated look, she tried explaining to Ron regarding her purely professional relationship with Draco.

"You don't need to explain, really, 'Mione," the obstinate boy insisted.  "You're _always_ in his company—"

"Ron, for heaven's sake!  We share the same classes together!"

The Quidditch Captain brushed this aside with a flick of his hand, "And you were caught a few times meeting secretly with him—"

"It's all part of our proj—"

"—and he's been giving you these looks—"

"What looks?  What are you on about?" Hermione shook her head.

"You know, you've seen him – he looks a great deal at you during meals—"

"He does not!"

"So you say, 'Mione," Ron lifted his hands as if to ward off Hermione's glare, "but really, Hermione, why don't you just admit that Malfoy and you have something going on?"

"Ron.  There.  Is.  NOTHING.  Going.  On!"

"Of course, if he does step out of line—" Ron narrowed his eyes.

Hermione looked up at the library's vast ceiling, doing her best to rein her rising temper in.  "Oh, would you save your big brother rhetoric for Ginny!" she seethed.  "It's not like that for Draco and me!"

"I'm just saying," Ron shrugged with an impish twinkle in his eyes, "there's no smoke without fire."

"I'll give you fire—" Hermione flashed.

"Speak of the devil," the red-head interrupted, his eyes lighting on a familiar figure at the library's entrance, "I'm sure your early morning meetings in the library are totally innocent study sessions for _NEWTs_," he leered.

Draco stood at the library doorway, scanning the vast room.  Seeing the couple looking at him, he sauntered over to the pair.  From the couple's stance, he quickly ascertained that Weasley was enjoying Hermione's riled mood.  Giving himself a mental shrug, the Slytherin greeted Ron with a curt nod, which the Gyffindor Quidditch Captain returned with an uplifted brow.

'Boys,' Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly, knowing instinctively that they were little more than marking their territory with their subtle male gestures.

"Morning, Hermione," Draco drawled, "Weasley."

"Malfoy," returned Ron, and before Hermione could greet the newcomer, Ron affected her an obvious wink and continued with, "My, my, would you look at the time?  I'll see you at breakfast later, 'Mione."  Lowering his voice to a level he was sure the other boy could hear, he teased Hermione with, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do.  At least, not until after breakfast."  Grinning, he vacated his seat for the Slytherin, giving the boy a curt nod and departed the library for his usual post-Quidditch practice shower.

"What was that all about?" Draco asked, folding his frame languidly into the seat vacated by the other Gryffindor.

"Well, apparently, we've not been as discrete as we thought," Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Rumour's circulating that there's something going on between us."

"Really?" Draco tilted his head to the side, considering this turn of events. "As if I'd ever be interested in you," he smirked.

"Believe me, Draco," the brunette shook her head exasperatedly, "the feeling's entirely mutual."

"Although," the boy narrowed his eyes and looked speculatively at the girl beside him, "this… _rumour_… might work to our advantage."

Hermione waited silently for the Slytherin to explain.

"Let's just say that Pansy has been getting a tad too propriety for my liking—"

Hermione blinked.

"—And this would be a perfect cover for our working together."

Hermione frowned, unconvinced.  Lowering her voice to a near whisper, she argued,  "This… _thing_… might make meeting up easier, but what about your Slytherins?   What would those on the other side say?"

Draco smirked and fired his last salvo, "_They_ would think that I've managed successfully to infiltrate the impenetrable Trio through you, and influence you for the Dark Lord's purposes.  The neutral ones would see it as a sign that Slytherin-Gryffindor unity might be a possible state, especially if we don't end up viciously quarrelling or killing each other," he grinned.  "Those that are working for us," he shrugged, "who knows?  Who cares?"

He allowed Hermione a few minutes to ponder over his points, then grinned, "So what do you say?  Up for a spot of acting?

Looking at Draco's mock leer, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, "Draco," she said, "have you considered the other implications if we really decide to go ahead with this?"

"Like what, Hermione?" he pouted.  "This turn of events is just what we need."

"Let's say we do this," her serious mien turned to the sulking boy, "and umm… and you meet someone—"

Draco stared incredulously.

"—it's possible, Draco.  Just hear me out!  If you met someone, you'd be tied down to me!"

"Is this why you don't want to go through with this?" he asked quietly, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Wha—?" Hermione blinked.

"You have a crush on someone in school, and you're afraid that pretending we're together might put the guy off you," he stated.

"No.  No, no, _NO_, you prat!" she huffed.  "It's not that at all!  Have you forgotten we're in a siege?  I'm not interested in anyone in school—"

"Then, what's the problem?"

"I'm thinking for you, you dolt!  Precisely because we're at war, I wouldn't want to stand between you and a girl you might fancy!"

Draco expelled an impatient breath.  "Hermione," he bit out slowly, "If you aren't interested in anyone at school, what makes you think that I might be?"

"Well, you're Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince Charming, Most Eligible Bachelor in Wizarding Europe," she mocked, "there's probably a whole queue of girls awaiting your attention!"

"So?"

"So, it goes to reason that you might turn a fancy towards one of those legions of Draco-fangirls out there."

"Legions of Draco-fangirls?" he grinned at her.

Hermione blushed, crossing her arms in front of her, "You know what I mean!"

"Fine, I understand what you are saying, but the truth is I'm not interested in having a relationship right now.  Perhaps after the war—"

"Which may take ages."

"Granted.  Perhaps after the war, _which may take ages_, there might be a future for me to consider pursuing a relationship.  But not right now – not even _if_ there is someone I'm interested in, which, to reiterate, there isn't."

The couple sat in silence for a while, letting what Draco said sink in.

"What about you, Hermione?" he asked, carefully neutral.

"What _about_ me?" Hermione brushed her hair behind her ear.  "It's not like I'm like Lavender or Parvati – I'm just bookworm Hermione Jane Granger, Gryffindor Know-It-All.  Too tall, too brainy and all hair!  Who'll be interested in me?"

"You'd be surprise," Draco murmured cryptically.

"What's that?" she asked.  Draco just gave a slight smile and shook his head, brushing off his comment.  "Besides," Hermione continued, "you're talking about Hogwarts _boys_," she rolled her eyes derisively, "I'd sooner fall in love with Snape!"

Draco stifled a choke, and gave her a watery smile of agreement.  "I'm sure my godfather would be glad to hear that."

"Oh no, Draco," Hermione softened, "that's not what I mean and you know it.  It's just that… now that we're in our last year at Hogwarts, everybody's expecting us to pair off – and that's rather unrealistic, don't you think?"

Draco merely nodded.  They descended into silence again.

"So…" the boy began, "about our 'relationship'?"

"If you're sure," she looked up into his questioning grey eyes.

"It'll certainly be entertaining for the masses," he quipped.

"Not to mention it'll break a legion of fangirl hearts," Hermione raised a corner of her lips.

They grinned at each other at that.

"So it's a deal," he said, extending his hand out to her.

"What?  No magical contract to sign?" she ragged, shaking his hand.

"Perhaps we should seal this contract with a kiss," he leered.

Hermione laughed.  "As if I'd kiss you willingly, Draco!  Who knows what pureblood germs you might be harbouring!"

"Ah, but a few public kisses might go a long way to convince our audience of our _passionate_ relationship," he teased.  "As long as you're my 'girlfriend', I might as well take advantage of it."

"Cross the line, _Drrraco_," she purred, "and I'll make sure that you'll be taking more than advantage – your godfather's healing potions will be what you'll be taking."

~*~

TBC.

**A/N:**

_Equisetum arvense_:  scientific name for Snake Grass.

**A/N2:**

4 months is a long time for an update.  *sighs*  But I'm glad this portion's ready to see daylight.

Whilst RL moves on, in Dream, it's just mid October 1997, and the next chapters will move quickly to the December hols and into the next year.  I'm slating a bit of Draco-Hermione 'courtship' and Severus' reaction to it in the next chapter, but know that unlike my DM/HGs, this story will end up SS/HG.  Who will Draco end up with?  Um… it's like what he said… *winks*

Again, the scene that inspired this _kahuna_-plot bunny hasn't been reached yet – it's slated to happen over the Easter hols (April 1998), so… it's back to writing.

**A/N3:**

Thanks Jodel for catching my blooper! *grins*  How could I forget Lockhart was second year? *duh*


End file.
